


A Higher Perspective

by omphalos, Wolfling



Series: Inquisitor Hawke [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Novels), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alternate Canon, Bad Latin Masquerading as Tevine, Canon-Typical Violence, Epic, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, What-If, cast of thousands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-06 01:19:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 161,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6731959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omphalos/pseuds/omphalos, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfling/pseuds/Wolfling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Anders watched as Hawke took up the truly ridiculously large sword Leliana offered, and he listened as Hawke said a few words about standing with them as a mage, not over them, and showing them a new way. Then Cullen incited the crowd below into loud cheering as Hawke raised the sword heroically over his head.</em>
</p><p><em>And there, with every eye upon him, that was when Hawke's gaze sought for and found Anders, grinning at him like a child who had just done something terribly clever that would probably get them both into awful trouble. </em> </p><p>  <em>And Anders couldn’t help but grin right back.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition that came in from the cold...

"Have you seen Cole?"

The woman just gave him a blank look. She clearly had no idea who he meant.

Anders had been circling the camp for an hour now. Everywhere he looked, he found exhausted, miserable people who quite obviously just wanted him to go away. He didn't care. He didn't have room inside to care. He was full to brimming with fear – fear of loss, fear for Hawke, fear of what he would become without Hawke.

Hawke should be here. Why had those bastards left him behind? When they caught up with the refugee train, and Hawke wasn't with them, he'd wanted to kill them. All of them. Only Justice stopped him attacking. If he'd been with them, if Hawke had _let_ him be with them, he would've stayed at the end. Hawke wouldn't have had to face an archdemon and a darkspawn magister alone. Hawke wouldn't have had to _die_ alone.

No, he mustn't even think that. Hawke was alive. He must be alive.

"No word yet?" a quiet voice asked behind him. Anders turned to see Chancellor Roderick, pale and unsteady on his feet.

Anders swallowed his immediate response, which would have been to yell at Roderick, scream at him with all the anger and fear he held. It was a very hard lump to swallow; if not for this man, Hawke might not have been able to find an excuse to leave Anders behind. He would be with Hawke, for better or worse, and not... alone.

He shook his head brusquely. "Have you seen Cole? The spirit boy? Big floppy hat?"

Roderick frowned. "I don't think I know who you mean." He shook his head as if shaking off his confusion and focused on Anders once again. "Hawke will make it, healer. Andraste would not have brought him this far to let him die now. We must have faith."

Anders stared at him. "You... don't know who I am, do you?"

"An apostate healer who is in an obvious relationship with the former Champion of Kirkwall?" Roderick gave him a small smile. "I have an inkling. And... my reactions even yesterday would have been far different."

Anders swallowed hard again, but this time it was a ridiculous urge to apologise – inappropriately and insufficiently. "I, er, you really think She is watching over him?" Maker knew, he'd like to believe that.

"I do," Roderick said. "I am ashamed I denied it for so long. I let doubt and fear cloud my judgement, but the proof has been there all along for those willing to see it."

"I'm not sure She'd want a prayer from me," he said glumly, turning his head to look around for Cole again. "You probably shouldn't be standing, you know."

"I shouldn't even be breathing," Roderick countered. "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be. I probably would not have survived long enough to pass on what I knew – knowledge that allowed us all to survive. We are both Her instruments in this, in spite of any missteps we have made in the past."

That brought Anders' attention straight back to the chancellor. "Misstep? I–" He shook his head; he hadn't the time for this. "Look, nice talk. I appreciate it. Truly. But you need to be resting, and I need to be finding compassion spirits, who if they truly had any bloody compassion would let themselves be found!" His voice had risen in volume during the last bit of that spiel, so in way of an apology, he took Roderick's hand and fed him some more healing energy.

Not too much though. He was saving whatever Justice had left him for when Hawke turned up. Any time now.

Roderick patted his hand gently before pulling free from his grasp. "You've given me enough of your strength. Save it in case you have need of it later. Try to keep faith. She will lead Her herald back to us. After everything that has happened, how could She not?"

"I... don't know." Anders managed a weak smile. "I really need to find Cole, but we could talk again later maybe? After Hawke's back." He nodded firmly. Not long now and Hawke would be walking down that slope towards the camp.

"I would like that," Roderick told him, giving him an encouraging smile before wandering slowly back towards the tent in which he'd been resting.

Anders watched him go for a few seconds and then turned on the spot, surveying the camp. He spotted Solas standing apart from everyone at the start of the track that led away from the camp, the one they'd arrived by. Gwydion was standing beside him, staring out into the grey and looking nearly as dejected as Anders felt. He headed off towards the pair, hoping for a more informative answer from the elf than the last time he'd asked.

He didn't even make it halfway before a welcome voice came from his side, "Cold, so cold, don't think I've ever been this cold in my life. Everything's gone numb."

Anders turned and grabbed Cole by the shoulders. "Where have you been?" he demanded, and then what Cole had been saying registered. "Who's cold? Is it Hawke? Where is he? You have to take me to him!"

Cole's eyes had widened when Anders had grabbed him, and he looked up at him now from under the brim of his floppy hat like a startled halla. "I didn't hear you calling me, I'm sorry. There's just so _much_... It's very loud here."

Anders was aware that he was only just holding it together. "Cole. Please listen. You must take me to Hawke. He needs me."

Cole didn't answer at first, his gaze going distant and distracted. "Can't stop. Won't stop. One foot in front of the other." He focused again, more sharper than before. "He's alive," he told Anders. "Battered, beaten, bruised, but unbowed."

For a moment, Anders felt like he was going to collapse to his knees, such was the weight of relief he felt. He leant heavily on Cole as he tried to regain control of himself, but then strength seemed to infuse him, and he didn't need to see the spirit cracks in his own skin to know where the strength was coming from.

As he straightened up, removing his hands from Cole, he thought a heartfelt ' _Thank you!_ ' at Justice. "Where is he? Can you take me to him?"

"Embers... still warm," Cole murmured, then nodded sharply. "Yes. He isn't far. Freezing, faltering, but forcing himself forward. He won't stop until he finds us. Finds _you_."

As they rushed out of the camp, Anders gestured at Fenris as they passed. Fenris scowled, but that probably had more to do with what Anders had said to him last time they spoke than anything else as he immediately got up and jogged after the pair.

"Have you found him?" he demanded.

"Cole knows where he is," Anders said, saving his breath rather than elaborate. He gestured to Giddy as they ran past, who immediately joined them.

Outside the camp the snow was deep and thick, and they were suddenly moving at a crawl. Too slow! If he hadn't been conserving his energy to heal Hawke, he'd have sent a fireball through it all, forcing it to melt.

Behind him, he could hear more people following, so he glanced round to see if it included a mage with firepower. It did. "Dorian," he yelled against the noise of the wind. "Can you..?" He gestured at the snow ahead of them.

The Tevinter mage was shivering violently, but gestured with his staff, and Anders could feel the strength of the spell he threw out. A wall of flames roared into life, stretching out ahead of them, then immediately died down, leaving a passable trail in their wake.

Beside him, Cole straightened and stared into the blowing snow more intently. "Light in the distance. Not sure what, but at least it's something other than snow." He turned to Anders urgently, "He saw that."

Anders began to run.

Before he got to the end of the cleared path, he could see a figure in the distance ahead, dark against the snow. "Hawke!" he yelled as loud as he could. "I'm coming! Hold on!"

He watched Hawke's head snap up, and Anders was still too far away to make out his features, but he still somehow knew Hawke was staring right at him. And then to his horror, Hawke collapsed, falling onto his knees in the deep snow like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Hawke didn't have a spirit inside him to boost _his_ strength. That Hawke had got this far was proof of his incredible determination; Anders wasn't about to let him fall now. He plunged into the thick snow, forcing his way through it with sheer physical muscle, what he had of it.

Giddy managed to leap ahead of him, his approach to the snow seemed to be to bounce like a gazelle. Twice he disappeared in the snow completely only to bounce up again further along.

Anders fell over more than once, but hardly noticed it, so compelled was he to reach Hawke _now_.

As he got closer, he started yelling again. "Hawke! Hold on!" To his great relief, he saw Hawke look up in response, and then something happened.

He was where he was, and then he wasn't. He had somehow shot through the rest of the snow and was by Hawke. He didn't have time to question that miracle before dropping to his knees in front of his lover and taking him into his arms. "I'm here. I've got you."

Hawke's arms wrapped around him in return though they didn't do so with their usual strength. "Found you," he murmured, his breath warm against Anders' neck.

Anders felt through Hawke's body with his magic, finding exhaustion, cold shock, broken ribs, awful bruising, incipient frostbite and more, though it could have been so much worse. He began to feed Hawke every bit of healing energy he had. "The others are coming. They'll get you to the camp. You made it. You did it. You're amazing."

He felt another puff of warm breath as Hawke chuckled. "Thought for sure you were going to yell at me."

"Oh, that's coming," Anders assured him after swallowing down something that felt horribly like tears. "Once you're warm and safe, and _whole_. Just wait."

"Oh goody. Something to look forward to," Hawke said with a trace of his usual humour though mostly he still sounded exhausted. There was a pause while Giddy arrived and tried to give Hawke big warm mabari kisses that would quickly freeze on Hawke's skin. Anders pushed him away.

Then, with a little more urgency, Hawke asked, "Fenris, Varric, the others... did they...?"

"Everyone is fine. Well, I imagine their ears will be burning for some time yet. They left you!" Anders held Hawke tighter still, now that he'd fixed the broken ribs. "Those bastards. I'll never forgive them that."

Hawke shook his head stubbornly. "There was a dragon. I told everyone to move. We got separated. Not their fault."

"They could have gone back! They left you there!"

"I wish I could say I was surprised to hear you're already complaining about us." It was Fenris' voice from behind them, harsh and angry. "Hello, Hawke. Good to see you're in one piece."

Hawke pulled away from Anders enough to give Fenris a quick searching look before smiling tiredly. "You too."

"Reprieve, relief, rest now that I know they're safe. Lost but not the losses that would level me. Can still stand back up, can still scrap and scuffle and fight back."

"Hello, Cole." Hawke turned his tired smile on the spirit boy.

" _Can_ you stand?" Anders asked as Varric, Dorian and Cassandra also moved into view from behind him. "We could make a rough sledge, get one of the brontos to pull it."

"I made it this far under my own power. I can make it the rest of the way," Hawke said stubbornly.

Anders had his doubts, but he helped Hawke up, inserting himself under Hawke's left arm. Fenris did the same on the other side of Hawke without being asked. He'd found Hawke's Key in the snow and was carrying it for him.

Dorian repeated his trick from earlier, casting a wall of fire to clear some of the snow out of their path, and they slowly started making their way back towards camp. Although Hawke's steps were rather stumbling, and Fenris and Anders were taking much of his weight as they walked, he peppered them with questions about the evacuation and the status of the survivors.

Anders had questions he wanted to ask too. If Hawke was well enough to ask questions, he could surely answer them... but maybe he should keep his silence until they reached the camp so Hawke only had to say it all once.

He was starting to realise just how much of his own energy he'd given Hawke by the time the small procession reached the camp. Everyone was up and staring at them, and as they saw Hawke, they started to cheer.

"Shit," Hawke said under his breath, just loud enough for Anders and Fenris to hear, but he managed a real looking smile and even a little wave to the gathering throngs. Then in the same undertone, he added, "I'm going to fall over in about five seconds if I don't get somewhere I can sit down."

Anders looked around wildly and caught a glimpse of Cullen nearby. He gestured with his eyes and head and, thank the Maker, Cullen understood.

Within moments, Cullen had organised his forces and a route to the covered area near the fire had been cleared. Anders and Fenris were pretty much taking all Hawke's weight by the time they reached the cot that had been vacated for him, but Hawke had managed to keep his head high.

Hawke let out a low groan as they lowered him down onto it, but at least it didn't sound pained so much as relieved. "I know everyone has a lot of questions, but can they wait?" he asked plaintively. "If I don't get some rest right now, I'm probably going to pass out in the middle of answering them anyway."

Anders gave Cullen a very pointed look, which again he seemed to understand.

"Everyone back," the commander ordered. "The Herald needs time to recover."

As people reluctantly moved away, Anders gently pushed Hawke down onto the cot, placing a folded blanket under his head in lieu of a pillow. "Sleep, love. I'll watch over you."

Giddy barked, as if to say he would too.

Hawke's eyes were already closing, but he still reached out and grabbed Anders' hand before he could completely pull it back, entangling their fingers. "Love you," he said, words more breath than voice as he drifted off to much needed sleep.

***

"Well," Dorian said as he and Fenris left the sheltered area where Hawke was resting, "the man certainly knows how to make an entrance."

"I shouldn't have doubted him," Fenris said, not sounding as happy as Dorian would have expected under the circumstances. "No one's will is greater than Hawke's."

Dorian glanced over at him, trying to figure out his state of mind. The elf had been unusually quiet even for him ever since they'd realised that Hawke had become separated from them in their mad scramble away from the dragon. He would've thought Hawke showing up alive would've lightened Fenris' mood, but he still seemed more broody than Dorian had grown used to him being.

He just wasn't sure what he could do to help with that. "Are you... all right?" he finally ventured tentatively, in a bid to at least maybe get more information.

"I'm fine," Fenris said, not sounding it at all.

Right. "You're lucky you're so good at glowering and glaring because you're a horrible liar," Dorian observed.

Fenris scowled at him, reminding Dorian he should have included scowling along with the glowering and glaring, but then the expression dropped, and he said despondently, "Anders... wasn't wrong."

"Anders practically accused us of throwing Hawke to the dragon to save our own lives," Dorian pointed out. "I understand why he was lashing out, but that was all it was – a man lashing out in pain because the love of his life was missing." He wasn't about to let Fenris carry a guilt that he hadn't earned.

"I promised the mage I'd keep Hawke safe," Fenris said, looking at the ground, his voice tight.

"Fenris." Greatly daring, Dorian reached out and laid what he hoped was a comforting hand on his arm. "I was there. I saw the swathes of destruction that dragon caused, cutting us off from Hawke. We all did everything we could to get through it, and you did more than any of us." The sight of Fenris screaming his anger to the skies, glowing like a small sun as he attacked the debris again and again was not something he was going to forget any time soon.

Fenris looked up at him, finally letting some of the distress he had to be feeling show on his face. "Dorian, I..." He broke off with a frustrated noise and violently raked his fingers through his hair.

"It was a horrible situation, yes. But you did everything you could. There was no way to get back to Hawke. If we'd kept trying, if we hadn't left when we did, we would've been caught in the avalanche. How do you think Hawke would've reacted if he made his way here only to find that we – you and Varric in particular – were gone? I've only known the man a short time, but I'm fairly sure that would've done far more damage than a darkspawn magister and his pet archdemon."

Fenris let his hands drop, closing his eyes and taking a series of deep breaths. Finally, he turned to look at Dorian again. "You're right. I know you're right. I just can't... No, you're right. Let's find somewhere quiet to rest."

It was probably the best reaction that Dorian could hope for at the moment though he wished he'd been able to fully chase the shadows from Fenris' eyes. He supposed only Hawke himself would be able to do that, if anyone could. "Resting would be good," he said, going with the subject change. "As would blankets if there are any to spare. I'm even missing the dubious warming properties of that atrocious ale."

Fenris gave him a sharp look at that. "We'll stay close to the fire. Find us a perching spot. I'll locate a... covering of some sort." They had stuck close by each other since leaving the wreck of Haven, and it seemed that Fenris had no intent of changing that for now.

He was off through the crowd before Dorian could protest so he did as he'd been told and managed to find a spot on a log that had been pulled near one of the main campfires – a spot that got annoyingly larger once he sat down.

Wonderful, his 'evil mage from Tevinter' repelling powers were still working perfectly. He sighed and pulled his stylish but inadequate for this kind of weather cloak tighter around himself and unobtrusively fed a bit of magic into the fire, making it burn a little warmer and brighter.

Fenris was quickly back, carrying some thick, folded material, which he shook out and draped around Dorian's shoulders. It appeared to be a heavy woollen cloak. "It's far from your usual style, but it should be warm at least."

He sat down close enough to Dorian that their legs were touching, but considering Fenris' armour, any warmth Dorian felt from the contact had surely to be his imagination.

"Thank you," he said, meaning it. The cloak was doing an admirable job of blocking out the worst of the freezing wind. "Since there are no bloodstains, I'm going to assume you didn't kill anybody for their cloak," he joked. He looked at Fenris whose armour had to be as cold weather worthy as Dorian's outfit, which was to say not at all. "What about you? You can't be any warmer than I am. Wasn't there more than the one cloak you could pilfer?"

"It's a big cloak," Fenris said with a shrug. "I don't feel the cold the way humans seem to. I'm never sure if it's being an elf or my markings that make the difference. I don't remember enough from before. That said, my feet... are better for being close to the fire."

That was probably as close as Dorian was going to get to an admission of discomfort from Fenris. "It _is_ a big cloak, and I'm not adverse to sharing," he said, unwrapping from it enough that he could throw it over Fenris' shoulders as well, moving closer in order to do so. "I could perhaps even be talked into providing a foot rub for certain people too stubborn to wear shoes even if it means risking losing a toe or two to frostbite."

"Because, of course, your clothing is entirely practical," Fenris said, and Dorian could hear the smile in his voice. He seemed to have no problem with sitting snuggled up with Dorian. On the contrary, he let his hand rest on Dorian's nearest leg. Squeezed together as they were, that was probably the only comfortable place to put it.

Dorian suddenly felt a lot warmer, however, and it wasn't due to the cloak wrapped around him. They hadn't discussed what had happened between them before the attack on Haven. To be fair, there hadn't exactly been a good time to do so, even if Dorian hadn't been intent on avoiding what had the potential to be an incredibly awkward conversation if it all turned out to be just due to the alcohol and the happy occasion. But it seemed like maybe it had been more than that.

Testing those waters, Dorian covered Fenris' hand with his own as he answered as haughtily as he could. "I'm the scion of one of the oldest houses in Tevinter. There are certain standards of fashion I'm expected to maintain even if I must suffer to do so."

"If you cared about Tevinter standards, you wouldn't be sitting here with me," Fenris pointed out, letting Dorian's fingers thread through his own.

Dorian was hard pressed to keep the smile off his face, but he managed. "I'll give you there are some subjects on which I vehemently object with the prevailing opinions back home, but this is different. We're talking fashion. Moreover, you agree with me. Can you honestly say you would rather see me in some of those horrid Southern Circle robes than my usual attire?"

Fenris snorted softly. "No, I can't say that." After a few moments, he added, "Anders claimed robes were important in the Circle for quick access and quicker concealment."

Dorian made a show of thinking that over. "While I can see the appeal of easy access in certain situations, if someone isn't willing to put in at least the minimal of effort to get me out of at least the most relevant of my clothes, they don't deserve to be able to sample what is underneath."

Fenris squeezed Dorian's leg a little, presumably in response to what had just been said. "You do have a lot of straps," he said with amusement in his voice.

"Consider it a puzzle you have to solve," Dorian suggested archly. "I needn't point out what the prize is if you succeed, do I?"

"Wouldn't me finding my way there be just as much a prize for you?" Fenris asked, equally archly. "Or do you think I'd just want to enjoy the view?"

"The view _is_ breathtaking," Dorian pointed out with supreme confidence. He knew what he looked like, after all. "But yes, I would hope if you took the time to solve the puzzle, you'd be more... hands on with the prize."

Fenris laughed quietly. "You make me wish we were somewhere a lot warmer and softer, with altogether less onlookers. And that I had the energy to do such a setting justice."

The words brought the expected heat, but Fenris' laugh filled Dorian with an altogether different kind of warmth, one that he wasn't willing to look too closely at. "The last day and night have been more than a little trying," he admitted with a sigh. "I doubt right now I could give the kind of accounting that I pride myself on, even if we did find somewhere that wasn't covered in knee-deep snow or curious onlookers."

"A bed would still be nice though," Fenris said and chuckled softly again. "Southern living has spoiled me. When I first got here, most nights I ended up sleeping on the floor. The beds were so soft they made me feel like I was sinking in mud."

"I had rather the opposite experience when I came south," Dorian admitted. "The first few nights I spent camping out were eye-opening in more ways than one. I'm sure the only reason I got any sleep at all was that there comes a point where exhaustion overwhelms discomfort. Also it rained a lot. There may have been _actual_ sinking in mud involved." He kept his tone light and self-deprecating, but the reminder that, for all that Dorian complained of how he'd been treated back home, Fenris had faced far worse sent a wave of guilt through him.

"Do you ever regret leaving?" Fenris asked, his tone thoughtful.

"No," Dorian said firmly and without hesitation.

Fenris chuckled, squeezing Dorian's leg again. "Even sinking sleepless in the mud?"

"Better sinking in the mud than sinking in–" he bit off his answer before he could say _blood_ , though he couldn't entirely suppress the shudder that ran through him at the memory. Hopefully Fenris would put it down to the cold. He took a deep breath to try and steady his nerves. "I... wasn't in a good place when I left. Hadn't really been for some time, if I'm being honest."

"Because you wanted to be with men openly?" Fenris asked quietly, pulling his side of the cloak around the front of himself and making more of a tiny tent for them both. "What would have happened if you had?" He made a small, uncomfortable sounding noise. "Danarius may have 'kept it to the slaves', but he never made an effort to hide his preferences that I saw."

"It was more that I refused to pretend with a woman," Dorian said. "I was betrothed when I was still a babe in arms, you know. I refused to marry, carry out my duty to House Pavus by begetting the next generation. I think the only way I could've disappointed them more is if I had turned out not to have any magic whatsoever."

That prompted a very rude snort from Fenris, who immediately then said, "Sorry," contritely. "Old prejudices die hard, it seems."

"The Dorian you see before you wouldn't exist if I didn't have my magic," he pointed out. "It's such an essential part of who I am, I would be a completely different person without it. What my parents have never been able to grasp is the same holds true for my preferences as well. You can't change either thing without completely destroying who I am."

"I... understand. Whether or not I chose to have these markings, they are fundamental to who I am now." After a pause, Fenris added, "But don't tell the abomination I said that. The crowing would be unbearable."

Dorian smiled and squeezed Fenris' fingers. "Your secret is safe with me."

"I know. And yours, too, are safe, if you choose to share them."

Dorian felt the smile slowly fade from his face. "I know," he said because it was true. He might not have known the elf all that long, but he felt like he had at least a basic grasp of who he was. "There are... things... I haven't talked about, it's true. But I haven't talked about them with anyone. Not even Felix. I'm just... saying them will make them more real, and I'm just not ready to deal with that yet."

Fenris nodded. They were sitting so closely that Dorian felt rather than saw the movement. "There are many things I've never spoken about with anyone. I just wanted to ensure you knew you could should you want to."

"I think there's already been more than enough emotional turmoil in the last 24 hours, we don't need to go dragging up even more right now," Dorian said rather frantically because he _really_ wasn't ready to confront what his father had tried to do to him. Especially not when he was this tired and this sober. Still he thought maybe, just maybe, he might be some day, which was a new thought. Scary, but also oddly comforting.

"I will remember," he said more softly, holding onto that feeling of scary comfort. "Thank you."

***

Varric watched Fenris snuggle up to the Tevinter on the opposite side of the fire and shook his head ruefully. He'd known the elf over a decade now, and he didn't think he'd ever seen Fenris do something more inexplicable. A guilty part of him even wondered if Dorian was indulging in some form of mind control, but Hawke would have picked up on that by now.

Maybe that bad magic everyone kept telling him lurked under Kirkwall had poisoned Fenris as well as Anders, and yeah, so many others. And now Fenris wasn't living there he was able to shrug off some of the mountain of chips on his shoulders and... love mages? It seemed unlikely, but then Varric remembered the elf still wore the Amell crest from his brief encounter with Hawke, so maybe, in fact, mages had always been a thing for him, despite everything...

Ah, it was none of his business anyway.

That said, why hadn't Kirkwall poisoned _him_? He'd lived there all his damn life, more or less. Was he changing too now he was away from home? Nah, the Kirkwall curse was just what Anders told himself so he could sleep at night.

"You're still you." Varric didn't jump, but it was close. Not many people were able to sneak up on him, but the kid managed it every time.

"That's, uh, good to know. How you holding up, kid? There's gotta be a whole load of heavy emotions flying around this camp."

"Hurt, pain, death, dying, fear. Is this how it all will end? It's been very loud," Cole said. "It's better now that Hawke is here. He makes them hope."

"Yeah, he does that a lot. You found him for Anders, for all of us. That was a good thing you did there." Varric smiled at the lad. Then he glanced at the canopy under which Hawke slept, Anders close by. "How are they both now?"

Cole looked over at the canopy as well."He's here, I made it, _found him_. Can rest now. Will deal with everything later but rest now. With him. They're together," he said, sounding satisfied as if that was an answer in itself and with those two, maybe it was.

Varric nodded. "Good." When they'd had to give up on getting through the rubble, when they'd had to _run_ , when the avalanche began and they only just made it to the passage in time, and then were unable to turn back because it was now blocked off, each time his dread had grown that he was never going to see Hawke again.

"But you did," Cole reminded him, following his thoughts as easily as if Varric had spoken them.

"Yeah." Varric smiled wryly, but then managed a firmer, "Yeah." One day it would be the last time; one day one of them wouldn't come back, but that was just the nature of friendship. Maker knew, he was glad it wasn't this time though.

  
Cole cocked his head to the side as he looked at Varric. "You're still in that moment. Holding the hurt, the horror, hoping it's not true, but you stay there even when you know it's not."

"Patience, kid," he said with a snort. "It's only been a few hours. The bad stuff will fade. Just gotta give it time."

  
"It won't if you keep hold of it so tightly. You keep thinking that it's going to happen even if it didn't happen this time. You don't know that. You're making yourself hurt for something that might not happen. Why?"

"Because it _will_ happen one day. That's just life for us fleshy types. You too now, maybe. Hawke and I, we're both gonna die, and in our line of work, it's going to be sooner rather than later. Unless we somehow manage to die simultaneously, one of us has to go first. The only thing sure in life is death. Well, that, rain in Ferelden, and the advisability of ever asking what's in the mystery meat stew in the Hanged Man."

Cole ignored the humour as the deflection it was intended to be. "So... you make yourself hurt now hoping it will make it not hurt as much later," he said slowly then shook his head. "I don't think it works that way."

Varric frowned. "It's not like I spend all my time thinking 'Maker, no! My friend is going to die!'. I'm not the brooding type. It's just a little close to the surface right now because of what happened in Haven."

And now he was actively and determinedly not thinking about it at all, of course.

"That's why most of what you write is tragedies," Cole said, and where in Varric's head did he pick that from?

Varric considered denying it, but as Cole was apparently living inside his mind, that seemed pointless. He shrugged. "Sometimes it's good to work through the bad things before they happen. Accept what can't be changed and so on." He sighed, feeling way more depressed than he had before this conversation had started. "Of all the people here, I can't be the one most needing your help. Is there something I can help _you_ with?"

"Helping helps you," Cole said consideringly. "You're like me that way."

"Yeah." Now the lad was getting it. "If making me feel better is important to you? Give me something I can help with. That's all I need to oil the mechanism." He thought for a second and added, "Though something half-decent to drink would be nice too."

Cole's eyes went a little distant as he looked around the camp. "There are people who need to be somewhere else for a while, even if it's just in their heads," he said when his gaze focused on Varric again. "You can take people away with words. Make them forget but not all the way, not like me."

"Tell them a story or two? I can do that." Varric stood up and brushed himself down, already feeling a lot better. "Just point me in the right direction."

***

When he slowly drifted awake, the first thing Hawke consciously took note of was that he was cold and everything ached. Memory caught up to him, and he realised that both the cold and the aches were far less than they could've – should've – been.

He'd found the camp.

There had been more than one moment when he doubted he would, when he was all but sure he would be walking in circles in the snow until he'd used up the last of his strength, but even then he never gave up. The one thing he could say that never faltered was his strength of will. Even when he failed in the past, it had never been because he stopped trying. He was happy to say that still held true.

He still had his hand wrapped around Anders', and he couldn't stop the small smile that thought brought to his lips even before he opened his eyes.

There was a start beside him, a small movement and quiet gasp. "Hawke?" Anders' voice.

"Last I checked, I was," he replied, squeezing Anders' hand as he opened his eyes.

Anders was sitting on a small stool close beside him. He brought up his other hand to touch Hawke's forehead with gentle fingers. "How are you feeling, love?"

"Better than I have any right to, considering. Your doing, I'm sure." He looked his lover over. Although Anders was hiding it well, he noted subtle signs of strain – in the tension around his eyes and mouth and in just how pale he was.

"I'd help you feel better still if Justice wasn't hogging all my power. He shouldn't need it anymore; Corypheus is long gone." He leant over and kissed Hawke on the forehead. "Sorry. Please ignore my whining."

Hawke reached to pull him back down. "You missed my mouth."

The kiss was soft and slow and just what he needed. When Anders eventually pulled back, it was to smile jauntily at Hawke. "So," he started, "I think I might be obligated now to become a born-again Andrastian. How do you feel about that?"

Hawke blinked. "Wait. What?" Of all the things Anders could have said, that was close to the last thing he expected. Religion and Anders were not things that mixed. He'd blown up a _chantry,_ after all.

"Yes, that's pretty much how I'm expecting everyone to react." Anders chuckled.

"You're going to have to explain that, or I'm going to have to conclude I hit my head harder than I thought."

Predictably, all that achieved was having Anders feel over his head. He could feel tendrils of magic poking at him.

"Your head is fine," Anders insisted. "Even the bruise has gone."

"That's not an explanation," Hawke pointed out, letting Anders fuss over him. "That's you mother-henning."

"Oh, well, it's your fault really. It would never have happened if you'd let me stay with you." Anders sat back again and folded his arms.

Anders must be convinced Hawke was all right if he was moving on to the accusation portion of the conversation. Hawke had been expecting they'd get there eventually. He was just still a little caught up on Anders declaring himself Andrastian part though. "It's my fault you... had a religious conversion?"

Anders nodded. "I saved Chancellor Roderick, and then he 'saved' me. Because of you."

"Chancellor Roderick saved you. The same Roderick who wanted to clamp me in chains and haul me off to Val Royeaux for execution the first time I met him." Maybe he was still asleep. No, probably not. His dreams didn't tend to be this confusing.

"He's had a bit of a rebirth too. He sincerely believes you were sent by Andraste now." Anders was still half-smiling, which was making it very hard to tell if he was serious about all this or not.

"He _what_? Because of what happened at Haven?" Hawke snorted and shook his head. "Figures. The only reason Corypheus attacked Haven was to get to me. He can lay that catastrophe much more realistically at my feet than what happened at the Conclave. So of course that's the thing that convinces him I'm 'holy'."

"It's a little more complicated than that, I believe," Anders said before struggling with a yawn. "Anyway, he knew you weren't dead. Told me to have faith, that Andraste wouldn't let you die, and here you are."

Hawke wasn't entirely sure how he felt about people thinking his survival being proof of Andraste watching over him – though the fact that he just happened to trip and fall into an old mine shaft instead of being buried in the avalanche was weird enough that the point could at least be argued.

What he was sure of though was that between worry and healing and blocking out Corypheus, Anders had run himself ragged. He needed to rest, though getting him to was probably going to be a battle.

"Come here," he said, tugging on Anders' hand. The cot wasn't very big, but it wouldn't be the first they shared, Hawke thought, remembering a few nights in Anders' old clinic back in Darktown.

Anders resisted. "We're not exactly in private, love," he said gesturing to where, away from the canopy, Hawke could see the Inquisition leaders engaging in some kind of heated discussion.

Hawke frowned. From what he could hear that really was something he should be taking part in, if only to yell at them all to shut up. "How long have they been at that?"

"Since you reached us, pretty much. All four of them have opinions; none of which are the same as anyone else's, and not one of them seems able to take charge and say, 'Look, this is what we're doing'." Anders sighed. "I learnt very quickly to pretend I couldn't hear them. My own opinions on the pointless circular arguments were not required, thank you very much."

That made Hawke frown even harder. "Is that what they said?"

"Most of them had a version. Even the Ambassador, although she was nicest about it. But can you really blame them, Hawke? The Left and Right Hands of the dead Divine? The former, post-chaos, Knight Commander of Kirkwall? If them being rude to me is as bad as it gets, I'm considering myself lucky."

"Your opinions are very much required, at least by me," Hawke said fiercely. "If they were as smart as they think they are, they'd listen to you too." He sat up and swung his feet over the side of the cot.

Anders frowned. "Don't go rushing into setting the world to rights, love. You need more rest."

"Pot, kettle," Hawke said, leaning over to kiss Anders before standing up. "Neither of us is going to be able to rest with them carrying on like that. So I'm going to go make them stop." He raised an eyebrow invitingly and held out a hand. "Want to come with?"

Anders took his hand and stood up. "All right, but I reserve the right to cast a wet blanket spell if discussion gets too heated."

Hawke had started to move towards the entrance of the area they were in, but paused at that. "If that is a real spell, you are definitely teaching it to me."

Laughing, Anders said, "You already know it. Just cast ice above the offending people and then immediately cast fire. Instant drenching."

"There's a story behind that and you're telling it to me later," Hawke said, laughing as well. He noticed heads turning at the sound when they walked out into the open and he did his best to school his expression to something more serious though he wasn't going to apologise. Laughing in the face of certain death and other tragedies had been his coping mechanism since he'd been a small boy, and he wasn't about to change it now.

The advisors hadn't noticed the laugh, however, and indeed were so caught up in their arguing that they didn't even notice Hawke and Anders walking right up to them before Hawke cleared his throat. Loudly.

All four turned to face him. "You're awake," Cullen said as apparently it was necessary to state the obvious. "Good."

Hawke crossed his arms over his chest and gave them all his best 'I'm disappointed in you' big brother look. "Is that why you're bickering like loud, overgrown children? Making sure I didn't oversleep?"

Cassandra made a frustrated noise in her throat then said, "Are you feeling much recovered, Hawke?"

"Thanks to Anders, yes," Hawke replied, not above any chance to point out the good Anders does. "Though waking up to find the leaders of the Inquisition yelling at each other was not what I expected."

Of them all, Josephine was the only one who seemed embarrassed about that. "Our apologies, Herald. We did not mean to disturb you."

"You didn't disturb _me_ ," Hawke countered, keeping his voice low enough that he would not be easily overheard. "People taking out their stress by yelling at each other just feels like home to me. But you're standing in the middle of a camp full of traumatised and frightened survivors. Do you really think listening to the Inquisition leaders fight is doing anything but making that worse?"

"You are... correct, of course," Cassandra said. "It behoves us to show a better example."

"Oh, so you listen when _he_ says it?" Anders said wryly.

Hawke squeezed Anders' hand that he still held. "I get that you're traumatised and frightened too – we _all_ are – but you're the leaders. You have to look like you know what you're doing and have it all under control, even when you're curled up in a little ball of fear rocking back and forth on the inside."

Cullen grimaced. "Normally we keep our disagreements behind closed doors. It was a mistake to... let things get so heated."

"The trouble with leading by consensus is when there isn't one," Anders commented.

"Situations like this, you need to just focus on the most basic of basics," Hawke said, already shifting from chastisement to problem solving because _someone_ needed to. "Things we can all agree on. Safety, food, shelter, supplies. Getting this camp set up was a good first step."

"There are spies and patrols out, looking for stragglers, game, signs of pursuit, all of that," Leliana said.

"But we can't stay here," Cassandra said, almost plaintively. "If the weather turns, if a true blizzard sets in..."

"We don't have supplies for much more than one day," Cullen put in, apparently supporting Cassandra's point. "We have to keep moving, and to do that, we have to decide where to go. I still say Orzammar is our best bet. It isn't far."

"You don't even know if–" Cassandra cut herself off, throwing her hands up and turning away.

"All right, Orzammar might be one possibility," Hawke said, trying to keep them from degenerating into a screaming match again. "What are the others you've come up with? No arguing why they're good or bad just yet, let's just get all the ideas on the table."

"We are almost as close to Halamshiral as we are Orzammar," Leliana said. "And the way is easier."

"Halamshiral is still recovering from Empress Celene's actions at the start of the civil war," Cullen said. "The last thing they need is a bunch of desperate refugees turning up at their gates."

"Redcliffe is a strong possibility," Cassandra said, turning back to the proceedings. "We already have a strong presence there, and–"

"And taking the mages back to Redcliffe after what they did there would be monumentally stupid!" Cullen's voice was becoming loud again.

Hawke felt a light touch on his arm and turned to see Solas, who asked, "A word?"

He nodded, then turned back to the others. "Everyone, just... go find neutral corners to sit in until I get back. Or, at the very least, stop talking to each other." He glanced at Anders. "If they start yelling at each other when I'm gone, I fully endorse the wet blanket spell option."

"Ha!" Anders grinned and then looked evilly at the Inquisition leaders, who looked worriedly back at him.

Hawke followed Solas out onto fresh snow, away from the camp, to a brazier that was, for some reason, just there in the middle of nowhere; perhaps it marked a path currently hidden by snow. Solas lit it with veilfire and stood by it.

"The orb Corypheus carries, the power he used against you, it is Elvhen," he told Hawke. "Corypheus used the orb to open the Breach, and in doing so, caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. I do not yet know how Corypheus survived that. Nor am I certain how people will react when they learn of the orb's origin."

That was not what he'd been expecting to hear. "All right. What is it and how do you know about it?"

"They were foci, used to channel ancient magics. I have seen such things in the Fade, old memories of older magic. Corypheus may think it of Tevinter, but his empire's magic was built on the bones of my people." Solas' tone strengthened as he added, "Knowing or not, he risks our lives. I cannot allow it."

"Wonderful," Hawke sighed, running a hand through his hair. "And if that little piece of knowledge gets out, we'll have all sorts of idiots laying this whole mess at the elves' feet and calling for their heads. Because finding a scapegoat is always so much easier than dealing with the actual problem."

"History would agree," Solas said. He turned, looking out into the night. "There are steps we can take to prevent such a distraction. By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it, changed _you_. Scout to the north, be their guide. There is a place long deserted that waits for a force to hold it, a place where the Inquisition can build and grow. Skyhold, it is called. Lead them there. Be that light they need to follow."

Hawke just stared at Solas for a long moment, it slowly sinking in that the elf had just handed him the answer to the most pressing current dilemma they had. "Solas," he said slowly. "I could kiss you."

"That... would seem unnecessary," Solas said, rearing back a little.

"I'm not used to people pulling me aside to actually provide me with _solutions_. Usually when they ask to speak with me in private, it's to hand me even more problems." He didn't kiss Solas, but he did clap a hand on his shoulder. "So thank you for the novel experience."

"You're quite welcome. It is good that my Fade travels can be helpful even here. Go," his said, gesturing loosely back to the camp. "I'll be close by to help with directions, but you need to be the focus for this."

Because the one thing they needed more than a place to go right now was something – or someone – to believe in. As much as he didn't want the position, Hawke couldn't deny he was the best choice to be that rallying point. He swallowed a chuckle as he headed back to where he'd left Anders and the leaders. Varric was going to _love_ this.

As he drew close, there was a reassuring lack of raised voices, and no one was where he'd left them. He found Anders leaning against a canopy post with his eyes shut. Some sixth sense seemed to tell him Hawke was approaching, however, as when he opened his eyes, he had already started walking in Hawke's direction.

"All right?" he asked, peering at Hawke's face as if for clues.

He took Anders' face between his hands, leant in and kissed him. "Better than," he said when he pulled back. "I know where we're going to go."

"You do? I warn you, if you say 'Kirkwall', I'm going to cry."

Hawke shuddered. "Maker, wouldn't that be a horror show? No, not Kirkwall. Where did the others get off to – they need to hear this too. Actually everyone should hear this, I should just get everyone's attention and make a general announcement."

"An aerial fireball should achieve that nicely," Anders said helpfully. "One that makes a nice big bang."

"Perhaps something a little less flashy," Hawke said, grinning at Anders and kissing him once more before he moved to the center of the clearing and let out a piercing whistle – the kind he used to call Gwydion to him over distances.

It did, of course, immediately bring his dog galloping to him, but it also grabbed the attention of everyone nearby. Even those who were asleep woke and looked around to see what was happening.

Cullen appeared from somewhere. "Herald?"

Hawke nodded at him. "Cullen. That thing we were talking about? I've got it." He looked around and raised his voice when he spoke again. "This isn't the speech I expected I would be making today. I thought I'd be talking about how putting aside our differences and working together let us close the Breach, and how it's proof that we can all find a way to do what Divine Justinia wanted and negotiate peace. I might've even made some notes. I wasn't counting on them getting burnt up by a dragon, along with the rest of Haven.

"Corypheus caught us with our breeches down, waltzed right in and smote the crap out of us. He won that fight; I won't lie and tell you he didn't, but he didn't _beat_ us.

"We lost people, good people, and that is a tragedy Corypheus is going to pay for, but look around you." He gestured at the clearing which was full of people, with more creeping closer the longer he talked. "Look at how many of us are left. Look at how many we _saved_.

"We got out, got clear, and as a parting shot hit Corypheus right in the face with the world's largest snowball. That was the first step. Escape. We've done that. The next step is finding some place we can escape _to_."

He paused, long enough to let that question sink in. "There's an old abandoned fortress north of here. It's not far. We're going to locate it. We're going to go there; we're going to set up shop, and we're going to build this Inquisition into a force that is going to kick Corypheus' arse to the Void and back. We're going to make him pay for every single person that monster has hurt.

"Corypheus may have won the first battle, but _we_ are going to win the war."

To start with there was a stunned silence, but then someone somewhere started to clap. More joined in quickly, and then the cheering and whistling started until the crescendo of noise was enough to make Hawke grateful that more avalanches weren't likely after the attack.

People got up from their perches and beds and came closer, forming a half-circle around him, an arch of happy, hopeful faces lit up by his words. And amongst them were his friends. There was Varric with a grin so wide it practically bisected his face. Fenris stood with Dorian, not cheering, but standing tall, his pride in Hawke obvious. Cassandra _was_ cheering, looking happier than he'd ever seen her look before.

And there, to his side, stood Anders, beaming, biting his lip, unable it seemed to even blink let alone look away from Hawke.

With a smile, feeling like he was flying high on success and relief, Hawke took a step closer so he could wrap his arms around Anders and kiss him soundly.

***

Anders woke to bright sunlight on the other side of the canopy above him. A quick glance around told him he was alone, but that there was plenty of activity in the camp outside, people no doubt getting ready to follow Hawke north.

Yawning, he sat up and rubbed at his face. He could probably have done with another few days worth of sleep, but he least he wasn't in danger of passing out on the spot anymore. Dragging himself to his feet, he restored his hair to its leather tie and then went looking for Hawke.

He found him talking to some of the younger mages, all of them hanging on his every word with eyes full of hero worship as Hawke demonstrated a trick he'd developed, modifying the fire glyph he'd learnt from Dorian to create tiny, transient fire sculptures that floated in mid air before him.

Anders walked up behind him and whispered, "Show off," in his ear.

Hawke turned towards him with a smile on his face. "Says the man who taught me that electricity trick." He kissed Anders, heedless of their audience. "Sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you." Anders grinned. "Having fun corrupting young minds?"

"You make me sound like a bad influence," Hawke said, hand to his chest, overacting being wounded at the accusation.

"And we can't have that, can we?" Anders laughed. "So when do we set out? Is there time for breakfast first?"

"We'll make time. I'm not listening to your stomach growl like an entire wolf pack all day." He said his goodbyes to his audience and started walking towards the cooking fires, tangling his hand with Anders' as he did. "I want to see to the wounded, make sure we've got everything arranged to make travel as easy on them as we can. I was hoping you'd come with me...?"

"Of course," Anders said more seriously. "Justice is letting me have more of my power back today; he must be confident Corypheus is far away again. I have patients that I should attend to. Roderick, in particular. "

"Ah, yes, my newest, biggest fan," Hawke said with a slight grimace. "Probably my public speaking last night hasn't actually helped that notion."

"You could do worse than have him on your side, you know."

Hawke looked at him searchingly. "You really think a lot of the man."

"Strange, isn't it?" Anders smiled, feeling slightly uncomfortable. "He stopped me from completely losing my grip while you were missing and so many people had just given up, certain you were dead and that I just had to accept it. He was the only one convinced you were alive and would come to us. Well, him and the dog."

"If he helped you, I certainly owe him," Hawke said, then shook his head with a wry smile. "I'm just having trouble reconciling the man you're describing with the man who all but threw a tantrum when Cassandra wouldn't clamp me in irons."

"Being saved from certain death can change a man," Anders claimed, his smile becoming more confident as he took the credit that was his. "But it wasn't that, not really. It was realising he was the only one who could lead Haven to safety. It made him see you, being the only one who could close rifts, in a similar light. All according to the Maker's plan. Or Andraste's. Something like that."

"If this is all Her plan, it would've been nice if we'd had a bit more of a heads up about Corypheus' attack," Hawke quipped. He sighed and shook his head again. "I don't know about being chosen. That... it seems far too much like a children's story, or one of Varric's more outlandish books. But then I remember my life is already the subject of one of Varric's more outlandish books and I... I don't know. It would be nice to think there was some divine support."

"You should talk to him," Anders said. "If for no other reason than because he's the only member of the Chantry that doesn't think I'd be better off with a noose around my neck."

"That does get him huge points in his favour." Hawke brought their clasped hands up so he could drop a kiss on Anders' wrist.

They got bowls of porridge at the cookfires, which they quickly ate, and then headed towards where all the wounded were gathered.

"So, can I ask you something?" Hawke said.

"Since when have you checked first?" Anders asked, giving Hawke a sideways look.

Hawke tilted his head and gave a half shrug, conceding the point. "You don't really think Varric and Fenris and the others left me behind on purpose, do you?"

Anders felt his whole demeanour becoming fixed and hard. "I never said they did. I said they could have tried harder. They should have! I would have. I would never have given up!"

"Just because they didn't get themselves buried in an avalanche doesn't mean they gave up," Hawke said in such a reasonable tone it made Anders want to grind his teeth. "Unless you're going to tell me they weren't already planning on going back to look for me."

"They weren't! They weren't doing anything. Just hanging around. Fenris was too busy getting close to Dorian to even look as if he cared. I was just going around and around the camp, desperately trying to find Cole. I thought if anyone might know if you were all right... but I couldn't find him, and most people didn't even want to be seen talking to me. Only Roderick gave a damn!" He realised belatedly that his voice had become strident, taut with painful emotions, so he made an attempt to talk more calmly when he added, "At least, until Cole found me. He cared."

Hawke stopped them moving, sliding his arms around Anders so he could rub his back comfortingly. "I'm here. I'm fine. I'm sorry I scared you. But it wasn't Fenris' fault, and it wasn't Varric's. Or any of the others. If you need to blame somebody aside from Corypheus – who I'm all for blaming for everything – blame me."

For a little while, Anders didn't say anything, just accepted the comfort offered, but eventually he said, almost whispered, "It's a lot easier to be blindly furious at them."

"Not very fair though, is it?"

"I don't care."

"I do." Hawke leant in and kissed him, then pulled back with a smile. "It's okay to be pissed at me. You're not going to drive me away. After all, it won't be the first time one of us has been pissed at the other. You'll yell at me, I'll yell back, and chances are if there's anything remotely resembling privacy, it'll end in either angry sex or make-up sex." He paused. "Possibly angry sex _then_ make-up sex."

"Not here." He didn't mean the sex; he meant the the row that would happen if he let himself feel the hurt and anger he was so busy either pushing down or diverting into rage at their friends.

Hawke, thankfully, seemed to understand because he nodded. "Not here," he agreed. "When we get to Skyhold and actually have somewhere we can go that's private." He leant in and kissed Anders again. "Just... try not to take it out on our friends anymore in the meantime?"

"I'll keep quiet," he conceded. He really couldn't promise more than that.

That earned him another kiss. "You okay to continue on, or do I need to give you a minute?"

"I'm fine," he said, but he knew he sounded subdued.

"Yes, you are," Hawke teased gently, with a wink. "Come on then. You can re-introduce me to my biggest fan."

***

The problem with letting yourself become a symbol and rallying point, Hawke thought as he trudged at the head of the long procession making its slow way through the mountains, was that everyone watched you. All the time.

It wasn't like he hadn't known that – the same thing had happened on a slightly lesser scale when he'd been made Champion back in Kirkwall – but it didn't make it any less annoying. He could feel the pressure of all those eyes on him, making him itch between his shoulder blades.

He wondered what would happen if he tripped. Would they all take it as some kind of holy omen?

Trying to take his mind off of it, he dropped back a little to fall into step with Varric. "Please, talk to me like I'm a normal person."

"Hi there, Ser Everyday Citizen," Varric immediately said with a grin. "How goes the day?"

"Funny," Hawke said dryly, though it had the desired effect of making him relax a little. "Really, I'm laughing on the inside."

"Sure you are." Varric chuckled. "Hawke, my good friend, you have _never_ been a normal person."

Hawke thought back to when life had been simpler. "I had to have been at one time. Back when all I had to worry about was looking after my family and hiding from temp– Okay, maybe you have a point."

"I always do." Varric patted Hawke on the back. "How are you now, anyhow? All frostburn and exhaustion magicked away?"

"Anders did his thing." Hawke glanced back to where Anders was travelling with the most severely wounded, doing what he could to make them more comfortable. "Sorry, by the way. For him going off on you and the others."

Varric shrugged. "I took it as what I knew it was, a desperately scared man who thought the love of his life was dead. You might want to have a little chat with Fenris though. He seemed to agree with Blondie's accusations, which can't be healthy. Why did you really leave him behind anyway?"

"He _was_ the only one who could've healed Roderick," Hawke said, but he knew Varric wouldn't let him get away with just that answer. "And I didn't want Corypheus anywhere near him. I mean, I don't want Corypheus near any of us, but... especially not him."

"Thought it had to be something like that," Varric said, looking grimly satisfied. "Forgiven you yet?"

Hawke grimaced. "We haven't even started to get into it. I have _that_ lovely conversation to look forward to once we get to where we're going."

"Not much of a reward for your endeavours really." Varric sighed. "But on that subject, great speech and all – really great – but where exactly are we going?"

"An old fortress Solas knows of called Skyhold," Hawke said, then lowered his voice even more. "I have no idea what kind of shape it's going to be in, but we needed a destination, and the others couldn't agree on one. If we'd sat in the same place for much longer, Corypheus wouldn't have needed to find us again. We would've come apart all on our own."

"You're not wrong. I heard the yelling from halfway across the camp. They need a leader, Hawke. It's a good thing you're here, for more than one reason."

Hawke grimaced. "Leader, I think I can do. Not what I wanted, but it's better than letting this whole thing implode. I'm still having problems with the whole 'chosen of Andraste' bit though."

"Ah, for all you know She chooses people all the time. Maybe Her favour is so common it's humdrum." Varric chuckled, apparently quite amused by the idea. "Either way, I don't think there's any stopping that particular fire. If I were you, I'd use it to get some good done. You've already ended the Mage-Templar War practically single-handedly. Think what other pains in the posterior you could put right."

"I think just trying to stop Corypheus from destroying the world with his crazy is going to be enough of a job description for now," Hawke said dryly, not even wanting to start thinking beyond that. Not yet at least. He paused. "Do you believe it's true? That I've been chosen somehow?"

"Shit," Varric muttered. "This is going to be awkward." He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. "I guess... I do? Either you're guided by the hand of some higher power, or you have the _worst_ luck."

It wasn't like Hawke hadn't noticed how bad his luck was, but still. "You think my bad luck is... divinely inspired?"

"Look at all the shit that's happened to you, Hawke. Do I really need to list it?" Varric shook his head and whistled before continuing. "Even ignoring Kirkwall, you survived an explosion that levelled a mountaintop, fell out of the Fade having somehow been in there for real, got sent to the future and back again, discovered that your foe is no less than the darkspawn magister who'd been imprisoned using your father's blood, that you'd already killed once; you ended a vicious war, had a mountain's worth of snow and rubble fall on you and lived... need I go on?"

"Please don't. You're making me want to climb into bed, pull the covers over my head and refuse to come out." He paused. "Of course, what you're saying is the bed would probably catch on fire if I did."

"If it did, something even more impossible would happen to allow you to survive it, at least the way things are going."

"And you're best friends with me why again?" Hawke quipped. "Aren't you worried that divine bad luck will rub off on you?"

"I don't choose my friends based on how lucky they are," Varric said before pausing and then adding, "Good thing really. I wouldn't have any!"

Hawke chuckled then shook his head. "So that's two of my friends who think I am actually chosen. I'm not sure if I should worry about this trend or not."

Varric paused before answering to clamber over a small rockfall over the path. "Who's the other one? Broody?"

"Anders," he said with a half smirk.

"You're kidding." Varric stopped walking to stare at Hawke. "You have to be!"

"Not even a little," Hawke said. "Though if it helps, that was my reaction when he told me he was now a believer too. Actually I was half sure I was still unconscious."

"Well that just proves it," Varric said, shaking his head. "If you can make Blondie into an Andrastian, you _must_ be chosen."

"That does rank right up there on the list of impossible things I've done," Hawke joked. "You may have to leave that out of your next book because it's probably less believable than Corypheus pulling an archdemon out of his arse."

"And isn't that an image I'll now see in every nightmare?" Varric said, grimacing in disgust. "You're serious? He's... converted?"

"I haven't caught him actually reciting the Chant or anything, but yes, he seems sincere. That isn't even the bit that most had me thinking I'd woken up crazy. Do you know who he attributes this sudden embrace of faith to?" Hawke paused for dramatic effect. "Chancellor Roderick."

"That... actually makes a tiny bit more sense," Varric said thoughtfully. "I've seen them together more than could be explained by just healing, and Roderick seems changed himself. Maybe they've rubbed off on each other? And that... sounded so much better before I said it out loud."

Hawke gave a mostly mock shudder at that. "Speaking of images I'll be seeing in nightmares..."

Varric chuckled. "So, Skyhold, yeah?"

"So Solas says. Not that he wants credit lain at his door for finding it, though it's his directions we're following. Probably afraid that people would start calling him the embodiment of Shartan of something."

"Wasn't Shartan meant to be Andraste's secret lover?" Varric asked.

"Please tell me you're not implying what I think you're implying," Hawke begged. Just because he'd slept with half their group of friends back in Kirkwall...

Laughing, Varric said, "Relax, Hawke. I think you might be Her herald, not Andraste Herself."

"That's a relief. That would be taking delusions of divinity a step too far. Plus I don't think I'd be able to pull off the dresses." Glancing around, he caught a certain broody elf watching him, though Fenris quickly looked away when he noticed Hawke noticing. That was probably something he should deal with sooner rather than later. "I think I'll scout ahead, see if I can cement my holiness by actually stumbling on this fortress before Leliana's people can. If I take Fenris with me, can you run interference with Anders if it becomes necessary?"

Varric gave him a knowing look and nodded. "It wouldn't be the first time. Good luck with Broody. You might need it."

"Thanks," he said dryly, then made his way over to where Fenris was walking with Dorian. He nodded at the other mage, who had a truly atrocious looking heavy cloak wrapped around himself.

"Don't say a word," Dorian warned, holding his head high as he pulled the cloak tighter. "Trekking through snow-covered mountains is one of the few circumstances where function trumps fashion. It also should trump aversion to shoes, but _some_ people are even more stubborn than me, if you can imagine!"

Fenris snorted, looking down. Hawke wondered if the elf was aware he'd started walking closer to Dorian the moment Hawke had arrived.

And wasn't that interesting. Hawke mentally added Dorian to the list of things he wanted to talk to Fenris about. "Seems like one of you has some sense at least," he joked to both of them then turned directly to Fenris. "I'm going to scout ahead. Come with me?"

Fenris frowned up at him from under his creased brow. "As far as I know, I haven't tried to kill anyone I shouldn't in the last few days."

"I'm happy to hear that," Hawke said. "If I promise not to give any lectures about not killing allies, will you come watch my back? Everyone is still twitchy, I'm not sure what would happen if I tried to go alone."

Fenris humphed and exchanged a glance with Dorian that Hawke couldn't see, then began to stalk off ahead. "Come on then."

Neither of them said anything until they'd left the main party far behind. Hawke considered various approaches to dealing with the sulking elf before going with, "I love Anders, but sometimes the things he says are complete and utter crap."

"Oh, so that's what this is about," Fenris said emotionlessly and then didn't say anything more.

"Me apologising for his being an ass?" Hawke said, deliberately misinterpreting. "Yep. If it makes you feel better, or at least less singled out, I'm pretty sure I'm going to get the same tirade from him as soon as we have the guarantee of privacy. Which is fine. I deserve it – at least far more than you did."

"I doubt you'll get the _same_ one. Mine was quite... specific."

"Oh, I think the gist is going to be pretty close – how dare I almost get myself killed versus how dare you let me almost get myself killed."

"Do we _have_ to talk about this?" Fenris asked, staring away from Hawke.

"No," Hawke said. "If you can tell me you're not blaming yourself for me getting left behind."

Fenris muttered something in what sounded like Tevene and kicked at small boulder they were passing. It rolled off ahead of them. "I made a promise and failed to keep it."

"'I'll keep him safe if I can,'" Hawke quoted the words he remembered overhearing. "I'll concede the point if you tell me what else you could've possibly done."

"Many things," Fenris growled. "To start with, I should have been the last to run when you told us to. I'm the one that's meant to take the damage, not you."

"The way I remember it, we were all running at the same time," Hawke replied. "And I don't think our respective positions being different would've changed anything – the dragon was deliberately trying to cut me off. It still would've done that if I'd been in front of you instead."

"At least then I would have been with you! You wouldn't have had to face that... thing alone."

"I'm glad I was alone," Hawke said quietly, images of the horror that could've happened far too brilliant in his mind's eye. "If you or Anders or anyone else had been with me, Corypheus would've had leverage." He shivered, remembering how easily he'd been overpowered. "Or he would've just killed you outright to make me suffer for 'stealing' this mark."

"We killed _him_ once, Hawke," Fenris pointed out, but then added, "Admittedly he hadn't a dragon then."

"Barely. You remember the kind of shape we were in when he finally went down." They'd all been more than half dead themselves at the end of that encounter.

"A better shape than him! We've fought a high dragon before too, and there were more of us this time, many more."

"We didn't fight them at the same time!" Hawke almost yelled. "And Corypheus... this isn't like when we fought him before. He was bad enough back then but now... the power coming off of him..." He shivered again, unconsciously wrapping his arms around himself at the memory. He had never felt anything like it and hoped to never feel it again. "He would've killed you, and I would've had to watch."

Fenris stopped walking and turned to glare at Hawke. "I'd rather die than you die, and I'm left knowing I let it happen like a stinking coward!"

Hawke just stared back at him for a moment trying to process the idea that Fenris thought he was... "Fenris, you're the least cowardly person I've ever known." He laughed bitterly. "I'd almost wish you were if it meant that there was less chance you'd be killed for me. If I have to watch one more person I love die in front of me... It would destroy me. There's not enough left of me to come back from that again."

Fenris kept staring for a few moments, his glare falling into what looked like dismay, then he turned and strode off again. " _Venhedis_! Do you have to be so damn honest?"

Hawke moved to fall into step beside him. "I could lie if it makes you feel better," he offered. "It won't change the truth though."

"Then what am I to do? How can I do my job knowing that if I die, it would do you as much harm as those foes would if I didn't stop them?" He combed his fingers roughly back through his hair. "I'm useless to you, Anders too, if you try to pack us in goose down."

"I know," Hawke said simply. "As much as I might want to at times, I do my best not to do that – because that's not fair to you. I don't want to change you – and you running headlong into a fight like a crazy person with a sword that's almost as big as you are is just part of what makes you you. But Maker, when you start beating yourself up because you didn't die for me it just makes me want to shake you until your teeth rattle. And _then_ wrap you in goose down. While lecturing you. So stop it."

"Hawke," Fenris started, and then heaved a long sigh. "Have you ever known me _not_ to be beating myself up about something?"

"If I promise to find you some Tevinter slavers to beat up instead, will you try to stop blaming yourself about this?"

"Venatori will do," Fenris replied in a wry tone. "That will cheer Dorian up too."

"Speaking of..." Hawke began, happy to move on to less fraught topics. "What exactly is going on with you two?"

Fenris glanced at him, a brow raised questioningly. "Does it matter?"

"Absolutely," Hawke replied without missing a beat. "I need to know if I have to give _him_ the don't rip _your_ heart out talk."

"You're not my keeper, Hawke," Fenris said, but he sounded more amused than offended. "Nothing has happened that would warrant such an invasion of my privacy, anyway." A glance at Fenris, however, revealed a small and rather smug grin being directed at the path ahead, which rather put the lie to what he'd just said.

"Maybe not, but I'm getting the feeling you want it to," Hawke pointed out, not bothering to hide his delight at the discovery, however surprising it was.

Looking ahead, Fenris said in a deadpan voice, "I may have a thing for flamboyant mages." Then he snorted and added wryly, "It's not surprising that it took me a long time to work that one out, all considered."

"I'm happy to have been a step on your journey of self discovery," Hawke intoned as seriously as he was capable, which at that moment wasn't very, considering he couldn't stop grinning.

Fenris glanced at him again. "As we seem to be having this conversation, if it happens, will you... mind? You'll always be... important to me, Hawke."

"I know," Hawke said more seriously, reaching out to touch the faded handkerchief that Fenris still wore tied about his wrist. "You'll always be important to me as well. Just because things didn't work out between us that way doesn't mean I love you any less. I want you to be happy, and if Dorian makes you happy, you've got my complete support."

Fenris looked away and didn't say anything for a while, though he'd started to fiddle with the handkerchief. Just as Hawke was thinking the conversation was over, he suddenly spoke again. "I'd like it to... happen. It's hard to forget what happened between us, however. The way I was... afterwards."

"That was a long time ago," Hawke said gently. "Things have changed – you've changed. You've always been strong as long as I've known you, but you're a lot stronger now. More sure of yourself and who you are."

"I hope you're right. I'm aware I... hurt you. I don't want to do the same to Dorian. The memories of... of Danarius, even now an unexpected touch or even a sound can bring them back."

As always when Fenris ventured to speak on this topic, Hawke found himself wishing they'd made Danarius suffer more before killing him. At least over the years Fenris had grown less reticent about accepting comfort, if only in uniquely Fenris-like ways. But this, this was different than previous conversations they'd had, and it made Hawke hope that maybe it was a turning point for Fenris in his recovery from past trauma.

"I won't say it didn't hurt, but I understood," he said, reassuring not for the first time. "Everyone has experiences that affect how we react in the future. What you've endured is far more than any person should have to, and of course it's going to leave scars." He paused. "Talk to Dorian, if you can. If you both know going in what you're dealing with..."

Fenris looked down. "We don't seem to be at the open heart stage yet, if we ever will be. What I can say to you, I may never be able to say to him."

Even after all this time and everything that did and didn't happen between them, knowing that Fenris trusted him enough to share things he wouldn't or couldn't with anyone else meant something. It made Hawke feel slightly possessive and warm in a way far closer to what he felt for Anders than he would ever admit to either of them.

"You don't have to give details you're not comfortable with," he said. "Just... maybe give a heads up that you might need to stop or slow down. If it was me, I wouldn't ask for more than you're willing to share."

"All right," Fenris said dutifully. "I'll try to say something, if we ever... get that far. Without interruption."

"I'd offer to make sure you got the chance, but that would probably just guarantee we get attacked or fall through a hole in time, or something would explode or..." Hawke trailed off. "You know what? I'm just going to quit while I'm ahead here."

Fenris glanced at him. "Is it weighing heavy?"

Hawke shrugged. "I'm trying not to think too much about it," he admitted. "Though considering Corypheus is behind all of this, and it's my fault he's not still locked up in that Warden prison, if this should be laid on anyone's shoulders, it's mine."

"Corypheus is not your fault," Fenris said firmly. "You were lured into a trap and had no choice. If you have to blame anyone other than him, try the Wardens."

Hawke shook his head. "They still couldn't have freed him without me. Or Carver, I suppose." He grimaced. "All things being equal, I'm glad that if one of us has to own the blame for releasing him, it's me. I wouldn't want him to have to carry this."

"So what were you meant to do? Just let the corrupted Carta keep coming until they got lucky and killed one of you?"

"I'm not saying there was a better solution. Still feels like my fault." He shrugged then paused before offering, "Corypheus said our destinies were entwined."

Fenris snorted. "Has he got a crush on you?"

"What?" Hawke asked startled, then couldn't keep from wrinkling up his face like he smelled something bad at the notion. "Maker, I hope not."

Judging by the chuckling, Fenris seemed to find the notion highly amusing. "Why not? Most people who meet you do."

"They do not!" Hawke protested. "I think you're just biased."

"Hawke, even Cullen has at least half a crush on you," Fenris said, still grinning. "He just doesn't know it."

"I'm fairly sure Cullen thinks things would be a lot simpler if I wasn't involved," Hawke said. "And I'm also sure he's thought that since he first met me. That a crush does not make."

"Have it your way." Fenris said, still smiling slightly. "So have we finished this urgent need to scout?"

"The ulterior motive to asking you along, yes," Hawke said. "But we should be getting close so some actual scouting wouldn't be amiss. I should be okay on my own though if you want to head back to Dor– the others."

That got another amused snort from Fenris. "By all means, let's scout."

Hawke spotted a goat path nearby that seemed to lead up to a higher peak. "If we can make it up there, we should be able to get a good eyeful of what's ahead."

"Right." Fenris lightly moved up the steep path, making traversing it look easy. If not for his footprints in the snow, he'd almost seem to be floating.

"Stupid nimble elves," Hawke muttered under his breath as he followed, having to pay a lot more attention to his own footing. In no way, shape or form could his progress be described as floating.

"And that is why I don't wear shoes," Fenris said, waiting near the top of the path for Hawke to catch up.

"Show off," Hawke grumbled, but without any real heat. He much preferred a smug Fenris to the angst the elf had been broadcasting earlier.

They made their way up and around a final curve and found the land for miles ahead laid out in front of them. And there, in the distance, rising out of the snow and rock, was a fortress bigger than anything Hawke had ever personally seen.

" _Vehedris_..." Fenris muttered. "That can't be what we're heading for."

Hawke couldn't tear his eyes away from the place. "Skyhold," he breathed the name, it coming out sounding more reverent than he thought it would. He felt himself starting to grin. "If it isn't, let's pretend it is."

"It's... huge." Fenris clambered up the rock face where the path had ended, seemingly to get a better view. "There's a road I think, leading to it."

"Convenient." Hawke thought briefly of trying to clamber up beside him, before deciding he'd been through too much in the last few days to risk dying by falling off a mountain. "Can you spot a place we can get everyone onto the road?"

He saw Fenris shake his head. "No, I need to get higher, but... we're on the wrong side of this mountain. I can see that much."

"Then it's down and around and up," Hawke said, not even the prospect of all that climbing dampening his spirits, not when he had the vision of Skyhold in front of him. He grinned at Fenris as they started back down. "Was this the most productive scouting foray ever or what?"

"We do seem to have struck the motherlode," Fenris agreed with a matching grin. "I want to see the others' faces when they see this."

"I'm taking you with me every time I have to scout," Hawke vowed. "You're good luck."

"No one's ever told me that before," Fenris said. "It probably means the fortress is full of blood mages and demons."

Hawke couldn't stop himself from laughing. "There's the prickly elf I know and love. If it is, we'll kill them all and move in. It wouldn't be the first time you've done something like that," he teased.

"True! Things are looking up. Maybe the huge fortress will have an equally vast cellar, and it will be full of fine wine."

"If not, maybe you can sweet talk–" Hawke remembered who he was talking to "–glare at Josephine until she arranges to have a crate of fine wine delivered for you."

"If I say it's for you, I'll get a wagonload." Fenris nodded wisely.

"Seems as good a use of my supposed divine influence as any," Hawke said with a shrug. "As long as you remember to share."

Fenris stared ahead at the fortress they were to claim and said, "Always."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroes settle in...

"There you are." Fenris weaved his way through piles of books the mages were busy shelving around this balcony floor, heading for Dorian.

Dorian had been frowning at a half full bookshelf as if it had personally offended him, but smiled when he turned to meet Fenris. "Here I am. Were you looking for me?"

"I can't imagine another reason I'd be here," Fenris said dryly, his gaze dancing over the book piles. Thanks to Hawke he could read these days, but he doubted he was ever going to enjoy it.

Dorian nodded. "True, there isn't much I can see on the shelves that is worth anything, but hopefully that is a situation that can be rectified." Then he paused, his expression smoothing out into that careful mask that Fenris was beginning to learn meant he thought he'd put his foot in it. "If this comes out offensive, I give you my apologies in advance, but do you know how to read? "

"Enough to get by," he replied, swallowing any shame he felt as it was pointless. "Hawke taught me. I'm never going to be learnèd, Dorian. If that's a problem..." He grimaced as he heard himself. "Sorry."

"For someone not learnèd, you've opened my eyes to a great deal of knowledge I hadn't been able to see before," Dorian told him, stepping closer. "Reading is a skill, like any other, one you haven't had as much opportunity to master as many have. The fact that you've made an effort at acquiring it anyway..."

"Is more to do with Hawke's insistence than my preference. I was a terrible student." He smiled wryly. "I have read some of Varric's stories, but he tells me they cater to the barely literate. _You_ look at home here, however. I think I might like to watch you read."

Dorian's answering smile was his wide and showy one, but there was genuine pleasure sparkling in his eyes. "I am _very_ watchable," he agreed, picking up a book at random and striking a pose with it. "I think I might like reading while you watched me."

There was no getting away from it, the man was handsome, confoundingly so. "You like being admired," Fenris said, drawing close enough that there was no chance of being overhead. "Everyone does, I suppose. But wouldn't you rather be admired for your mind than your admittedly fine body?"

"Why can't I be admired for both?" Dorian teased with that over the top confidence that Fenris had initially taken as typical altus arrogance, before he realised how much humour Dorian infused such things with. He stepped closer. "Just because I admire your dry wit doesn't mean I've stopped admiring your gorgeous physique or the grace with which you move. You just have to multitask."

Fenris found himself staring avidly, even leaning forward a little to do so... He stepped backwards in a hurry, coughing to cover the movement. This was not the place.

"Ah," he said, "I can't decide whether this is the perfect time or the most perfectly inappropriate time to reveal why I hunted you out."

"Consider me intrigued with a lead in like that," Dorian said, smiling at him, but allowing Fenris his space.

"Have you claimed a room yet?" Fenris asked, choosing directness over dithering around the subject.

The question seemed to take Dorian by surprise. He blinked and glanced behind him to a sunny nook where Fenris could now see Dorian's bags and staff had been placed. "Not a room, no," he admitted.

Fenris laughed. "Were you planning on sleeping in a chair with a dusty tome for a pillow?"

"It wouldn't be the first time," Dorian said, a bit wryly. "And it certainly beats some of the places I've laid my head recently." He paused. "Though not the company, I admit."

Fenris half-smiled, as always feeling slightly uncomfortable with the warm feeling that came when someone he liked flattered him. "As part of Hawke's main team," he said, "we get to choose our rooms second after the advisors." Which made him now part of a privileged class, and didn't that feel... confusing. "They won't wait forever though. I, uh, was hoping we could get rooms close by, for now at least. Hawke wants me to take the room under his once the repairs are done, but that won't be soon."

"I... would like that," Dorian said, sounding a little surprised, but wearing that small genuine smile that Fenris was getting to see more and more often.

And that meant the risk had been worth it. Fenris smiled back and then gestured with his head, "Come on then. Let's see what we can find. This tower's all taken, but there's space overlooking an overgrown garden which might work."

"And you like gardens," Dorian said, rubbing his hands together. "Yes, that sounds like an excellent place to start.

"You remembered." Fenris couldn't help the smile forming on his face.

Dorian raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "I know it appears that I love the sound of my own voice, but I do actually listen when you tell me things. And I would hardly forget you sharing something so meaningful to you."

Every so often Dorian would say something, and it would hit Fenris all over again just how different the mage was from his despicable countrymen. The man was... well. Fenris could no longer deny to himself just how infatuated he was with Dorian, even though he would never have believed it could happen. Not before that night in the dark Hinterlands, the one which had started so poorly.

He seemed to smooth all Fenris' rough edges just by being nearby.

Getting to the rooms Fenris had in mind involved clambering over rubble and fallen timbers, but he had the word of the dwarf organising the work detail that the short corridor would be cleared within the next day or so, sooner if he got the mage help he'd been promised.

Once beyond that obstacle, however, the way was clear to the wild garden. "I wonder what they'll do with this space," he said, looking out from the arched path into the greenery.

"One would assume keep it as some sort of garden," Dorian mused, brushing an idle hand against the leaves of a plant that had grown to overhang the path they were on. "Perhaps once it has been tamed, it can be used to grow the herbs needed for alchemical potions. Or just kept as a space for meditation and the occasional lovers tryst, like the gardens back home. Or both. There's certainly enough room." He glanced at Fenris. "What would you like to see done with it?"

"The herbs would be practical," Fenris said, aware he wasn't really answering the question.

"They would be, yes, but not everything has to be practical," Dorian said. "And there's something to be said to having a place people can go to just... breathe."

"I can't see the Inquisition going to the expense of hiring a Tevinter landscaper," Fenris said wistfully and then shook his head. "Northern plants would just die in the cold. Come on, let's claim our rooms."

Dorian made a thoughtful noise, but followed Fenris willingly enough. "Overgrown garden or not, this part of Skyhold seems in better repair than a lot of the rest," he observed. "We may actually be able to find rooms that do not have more openings to the outside than were designed."

"That's what I thought." Fenris led them upstairs and through the first door he saw. He'd been in this room earlier and left a few bits and pieces on the bed to try to say 'this one's claimed'. It seemed to have worked as nothing seem moved. "This is the cleanest of the two I considered. I thought maybe you would like this one."

"'Cleanest' being a relative term in this case," Dorian said dryly, though he seemed more amused at the dirt and clutter than anything else. He turned his head sharply to gaze at Fenris. "You didn't want this one for yourself?"

He shook his head. "I'm more used to chaotic surroundings. Ask Hawke." He laughed and then added, "On second thoughts, don't."

"That bad was it?" Dorian said, sounding curious.

"Worse." He picked up the few things he'd left here. "You'll need to mark this room as yours now, at least until you get your assigned bed and so on."

Dorian dropped his bag in the spot that Fenris' things had been. "Do I get to see the room you've decided to claim for yourself?"

"It's close by." As Fenris headed to the door, he paused but didn't turn. "You need not feel obliged to take this room if you find one you like better, Dorian."

"Why ever would I keep looking when you've found me this one?" he asked, making it sound like the suggestion was outrageous. But he touched Fenris' arm gently, and his voice was full of sincerity when he added, "I trust your judgement, Fenris."

Fenris closed his eyes briefly and then nodded. "You should be careful when you touch my bare skin," he said in as warm a tone as he knew, not wanting his words to sound like an unfriendly warning.

Dorian instantly drew his hand back. "That was rather forward of me, wasn't it?" he said, sounding merely rueful instead of dismayed or scared so Fenris had probably pitched the warning just right. "My apologies. I... usually I am not so casually... hands on."

"Don't get me wrong. I like your touch." Surely that much at least was obvious. "It's just... the markings. I feel your touch more strongly than you will have intended." He shut his eyes again and castigated himself for several things, including his apparent inability to turn around and face Dorian when he said these things.

"Is it... please tell me it's not painful." He could hear the horror in Dorian's voice at the thought.

"They used to be, whether touched or not, a constant hum of pain. Not for some time now." He sighed softly and made himself turn enough to look Dorian in the eye. "I don't know if it's coincidence or cause and effect, but as I've grown to accept them, even to appreciate them, the pain has decreased until it's not there at all except in dreams."

"Well, that's good," Dorian said, his entire body relaxing in relief. He tilted his head as he continued to look back at Fenris. "So if it's not pain, when you say you feel touch more strongly, it's... just sensation? Or more than that?"

"They respond to your magic, and it... and they... Danarius..." Now Fenris sighed heavily. He'd started this conversation; it made no sense to dry up now. "It's pleasurable," he managed, staring fixedly at the floor.

"Oh." Dorian hesitated. "Did he.... No, you don't have to answer that. Just tell me what you want me to do. Ask permission before touching you? Avoid touching your markings entirely? What do you need?"

Fenris shrugged. "You can touch me when you like. Just be aware when you do so that it isn't casual. You need to... mean it." He managed to glance up and give Dorian a twisted smile. "I wish this was the only awkward conversation we need to have."

"Our entire friendship seems to have been built on awkward conversations," Dorian pointed out. "Well, that and passing out drunk together." He stepped closer, then slowly reached out and ran a finger lightly along the markings visible on Fenris' arm, his gaze never leaving Fenris'. "I know I talk a lot without saying anything important, but please don't ever doubt that this... whatever it is between us or whatever it grows into... please, don't ever doubt I mean it."

Fenris felt his eyes flicker shut again, this time from pleasure, and leant back against the doorframe, keeping his touched arm still. "I don't. Don't doubt you."

Dorian made a small sound in the back of his throat that almost sounded distressed, but then he was crowding Fenris against the door frame and kissing him like his life depended on it.

Fenris groaned into the kiss as he moved one hand to the back of Dorian's neck, the other to his waist. _Vehedris_ , but this man was a potent drug. Fenris felt drunk on him, out of control in the best way possible. The feel of Dorian pressing into him, the dance of their tongues together...

Dorian pulled back after a moment, breathing heavily. " _Festis bei umo canavarum_ ," he said, but there was laughter in the words. "The way you kiss..."

"Clearly, there's something wrong with how I do it," Fenris said a little grouchily as the kiss had ended too soon as far as he was concerned.

"My dear Fenris, if there had been anything more right about that kiss I would've come in my smalls."

The image lent by Dorian's words drew a smug, tight smile from Fenris. "That would be... a waste."

"Clearly," Dorian said haughtily. "I hardly want this to be over before it's barely begun, after all."

With the hand behind Dorien's neck, Fenris started to pull him back into the kiss, but then sighed and just touched their foreheads together. " _Fasta vass_ , I'm sorry. We need to talk."

Dorian echoed his sigh, but didn't pull away far. "More awkward conversations?" he asked with small smile, although his gaze was dark with concern.

"Indeed. I, uh... Perhaps we should sit down."

Dorian nodded, then looked around the room. The only piece of furniture available for sitting on was the seen better days bed. He walked over to it and gingerly sat down on the edge. "If this thing collapses while I'm sitting on it, you're the one who's explaining to Anders why I need help healing splinters in my arse."

Fenris took a good look at the ancient bed and decided against adding to the weight on it. Instead, he sat on the floor and leant back against the bed by Dorian's legs. "I need to tell you about what happened between Hawke and me."

There was a moment of startled silence before Dorian said, "All right. I'm listening."

It took a few moments before he could make himself talk, but finally his exasperation at himself forced him into it. "Anders has already hinted about this, during that card game, but six, seven years ago, Hawke and I shared a bed. Just once."

"Ah," Dorian said, sounding like a piece of a puzzle had just fallen into place for him. "That's why you wear his family's crest. That makes more sense than..." He trailed off sounding embarrassed. "When I first realised it was Hawke's family, I thought it was like a s– servant wearing the livery of the house they served back home. Of course, once I got to know you better, that seemed completely opposite to something you would choose to do, but I couldn't think of another reason. But a token of past affection? That sounds much more logical."

Fenris made a noise deep in his throat, but decided to otherwise ignore the slave assumption in what Dorian had just said. It was true; he hadn't known any better at the time. And anyway... "I was not a slave, but the... scars from when I had been were still fresh. To be touched in such a way when I could remember no one before touching me except Danarius... It was too much. To make matters worse, I had flashbacks to my forgotten past from before the markings."

"You did? Fascinating! That would lend credence to the theory that your memory loss was a direct result of the magic and not just the trauma of the proced–" Dorian abruptly cut himself off mid-word. When he spoke again after a slight pause, he sounded chagrined. "I apparently have not proven I am an ass recently and felt the need to do so. My apologies. That was insensitive and unworthy of the confidence you're sharing with me. I did not mean to make light of your experience. It sounds like it was... overwhelming."

Fenris couldn't help a brief smile, both at Dorian's stumbling, and his sincere need to do right by Fenris here. "It was. I... fled from him that night. If Hawke had been a lesser man, it would have ended our friendship. Dorian, there's been no one since Hawke... until you."

"No one?" Dorian repeated in a soft voice.

"No one." He let his head rest against the side of Dorian's knee. "The others may think something happened with Isabela. It suited me for them to think that, and Isabela was happy to let them. Despite her reputation, she has a generous heart, but we're just friends. After what happened with Hawke, I felt destined for a celibate life."

He felt Dorian's fingers begin to comb hesitantly through his hair. "And I've changed that." It wasn't quite a question, and there was a wonder in the words that Fenris hadn't been expecting.

He pushed into the touch, encouraging it, and closed his eyes to feel it better. "It's easy to say I like flamboyant mages, but the truth is I've never met anyone quite like you. That someone so... generous of spirit could have come from Tevinter never stops amazing me. You are remarkable."

He was risking a lot, opening up like this, but somehow he'd never felt 'at risk' with Dorian, which rather tied into why they were having this conversation. He wanted to take risks with Dorian that he'd thought he would never take again.

"You are the remarkable one," Dorian countered, his voice still soft with wonder. "With everything you've been through, that you still..." He gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "I'm not entirely certain I deserve all those things you said about me, but I will do my best to be worthy of your trust."

"I'm not worried. Not about that."

"But you are worried." He heard Dorian take a deep breath. "Right. If what happened before was because your markings made it too easy to overwhelm you with sensation, we let you get used to each new one before moving on to the next. If something is too much, we pause or even back up until you're comfortable. We take things slow. Glacial, even. We can do this. If you want to."

"I want to. I will understand, however, if you feel I'm too much of a problem case." He winced before adding, "The way you make me feel is... powerful. I might find it hard to stop. That is something I'll have to learn; I don't expect you to become my conscience."

Dorian gave a strangled laugh. "I am far from equipped to be anybody's conscience. And that isn't what I want to be for you." He was quiet for a moment, and Fenris, leaning against him, could feel the tension in his body. "I don't need to tell you what Tevinter is like. Anything that happens between two men there is just for pleasure and nothing more. It's not allowed to be. But as much as I had thought I'd come to terms with only having those kind of brief encounters, it's not what I want. And it isn't what you need."

Fenris frowned to himself, then shuffled around to look up at Dorian, his hand on Dorian's knee. "What _do_ you want?"

Something wild was caught in Dorian's expression, like an animal that couldn't decide whether to run or brace itself against a blow. But he met Fenris' gaze squarely, and his voice was steady when he answered. "I want more," he said. "I look at what Hawke and Anders have, and it puts the lie to what I've been told, what I've experienced my whole life. I want that. I want you to have that. I want..." Here his voice finally faltered, going soft as if his words were too secret to say louder. "I want us to have that together. If it's possible."

Fenris stared at Dorian with a slight frown, not disapproving, just concerned. He moved his hand on Dorian's leg in what he hoped was a soothing manner. "We've known each other not even two months, but..." But nothing had ever felt so right so quickly as it had with Dorian. He couldn't say that aloud though, not quite, not yet, and he didn't want to dilute the reality by expressing it in a more cautious way. He tried a different tack. "Neither of us are in Tevinter anymore. I don't know if I can have that 'more', but... I'd like to try. With you."

Dorian stared at him for a moment, then slid off the bed, seating himself on the floor beside Fenris. He started to lean towards him, then paused. "I want to– May I–?"

He wasn't entirely sure what he was saying yes to – a kiss? something more? – but he nodded anyway and then said, "Yes," in case nodding wasn't clear enough permission.

Dorian instantly closed the remaining distance between them and kissed him.

***

"Well, this is pleasant," Anders said, looking around the large suite Hawke had been awarded as his new quarters. They were in remarkably good condition compared to the rest of the fortress. He opened the glass doors to one of the balconies. "And look at the view!"

No answer came, so Anders looked around and frowned at his lover, who seemed to be staring into nowhere in the middle of the room. "Hawke! Just what happened in that meeting that's got you so distracted?"

Hawke actually startled a little at his name, looking guilty. "I'm sorry, thinking too much." He shook himself and crossed over to where Anders was standing. "There are things we should discuss."

"Isn't there always?" Anders asked, feeling his smile sink into something much sourer. "What this time? I warn you, if it involves either sending me away or leaving me behind, there will be literal fireworks."

"Not exactly," Hawke hedged. "Unless you mean leaving you behind while I spend all my time in meetings in the war room then–"

Anders walked over to stand in front of Hawke, putting a hand on his upper arm. "Love, what is it?"

Hawke took a deep breath. "So you know how it was obvious that the Inquisition was lacking one decisive leader during our escape from Haven? I, uh, may have just agreed to solve that dilemma for them."

"Oh, that's all? That's hardly a surprise." Anders chuckled, mostly with relief. "They've been gagging for you to take the reins since I got here and no doubt before too. Congratulations on... does it come with yet another title? Grand Chief Inquisitorial Majesty?"

"Maker, don't even joke about that being a proper form of address." Hawke shuddered. "Just Inquisitor is bad enough!"

"Inquisitor Hawke and his Most Wanted apostate consort, ha! The Chantry are going to love this." Anders bit his lip to try to keep his grin under control. He wrapped his arms around Hawke, moving close. "Well done, love. There's no one better suited."

Hawke wrapped his arms around him in return. "So you're okay with this?"

"As long as you're not sending me away..." Anders found himself frowning again. "You're not are you? Why did you think I'd have a problem?"

"No, I'm not sending you away," Hawke reassured him, his arms tightening their grip around him as if to punctuate the declaration.

"Or leaving me behind?" he checked, still looking anxiously for loopholes.

Hawke sighed and leant in until their foreheads were touching. "You're still upset over Haven."

"Can you blame me? Imagine it the other way around, me pushing you away so I can go and die horribly without you."

"Like when you kept me in the dark about blowing up the chantry, expecting to die right after?"

Anders felt cold sinking into the very heart of him. He stared at Hawke and tried to back away, but he was held fast. "Clearly I wasn't feeling enough guilt already. I know I need punishing, love, but I didn't think it would be you doing it!" He was struggling to control his expression, to stop the lump in his throat becoming something more. Anger was so much safer than anguish. "So, what, sending me away was revenge? Well done you then. You got what you wanted. You– arhh!" He struggled in Hawke's arms. "Let me go!"

Hawke did so, his expression a mixture of frustration and anguish. "I didn't mean– I wasn't trying to– Fuck." He turned away, staring out at the view off the balcony. "You asked me to imagine..."

Anders stared at his back, trembling slightly. He clenched his fists and silently asked Justice to help him keep control of himself. "I had thought that you, if no one else, understood that I– we– Justice and I were not... That we would never do... not _now._ Maker, Hawke, do you really not know how devastated I am by what I did?" His voice cracked, so he stopped talking. He wanted to get out of here, but something kept him glued to the spot.

He watched a shudder visibly run through Hawke before he turned back to Anders. "I know," he said as he closed the distance between them again. "I _know_. I wasn't trying to make an accusation or imply that I'm worried it would happen again, or... any of the other things that are making you look at me like that right now. I just... I know how it feels. To be the one left behind because of something bigger that has to be done, or that you think has to be done. I... I wouldn't have asked that of you at Haven if I didn't have to."

"You _didn't_ have to," Anders said, but despite his best efforts to plaster rage over his pain, the anger was leaving him. He wrapped his arms tightly around Hawke again and leant his head on Hawke's shoulder. "You just chose to put your fear of losing me over my fear of losing you," he said wearily. "Maybe you were right to do so. Justice might have lost control of us so close to Corypheus. I was too dangerous a risk. I still am. Rationally, I can see that. It's just, if I lost you when I could have saved you, I would break apart... I'm sorry, Hawke. I feel guilt burning even saying that to you; you've lost so much. I wish I had your strength."

"You _are_ my strength," Hawke said, wrapping his arms tightly around Anders in return. "The last thing I've ever wanted to do is bring you more pain. You've suffered more than anyone should have to already. This isn't the life I wanted for us at all."

He nuzzled into the crook of Hawke's neck. "If I'm your strength, then let me be it. Let me stay with you, to have your back, to heal, to do whatever is bloody well necessary. _Please_ , Hawke."

"I can't promise a circumstance won't come up where we're needed to do different things in different places. If I am to be Inquisitor, I'll have to make that decision," Hawke told him, his distress at having to give that answer evident in his voice and in the way he was tense against Anders. "But beyond that..."

"No." Anders really didn't care if he was being unreasonable. "As far as I can see, I'm the only spirit healer that the Inquisition has got. _You_ are quite possibly the most important person in the world right now. It only makes sense that I should be with you at all times."

Hawke blew out a frustrated sigh. "This is why I would've turned down being Inquisitor if I could have. I can promise you that as Hawke, the man, even probably as the Herald, but I can't as Inquisitor, not without compromising what the position needs me to be before I even start."

So this was why Hawke had thought Anders would have a problem with his new appointment. The responsibilities that came with it were more important than any individual, even him.

Anders remained silent for a while, trying to take comfort from Hawke's physical presence while he could. Then he pulled back and separated himself from Hawke's loose hold. "Well, congratulations again on your appointment. I meant what I said; there really is no one better suited."

With that he walked towards the stairs.

"Anders?" Hawke sounded dismayed and distressed, but he didn't physically chase after him.

He paused at the top, but didn't turn. "I have patients to see to. Was there something else?"

There was a long silence and then a soft, sad sigh. "No, I guess not."

"All right. See you later." Anders headed downstairs and out of the door.

The sick and injured were being tended outdoors by a fire in the lower courtyard. It was far from perfect, as healing institutions went, but at least Anders could feel useful here in a uncomplicated sort of way, and it would help him forget for a while as he calmed himself down.

He nodded at the 'surgeon', a woman who had been a lot more reasonable after seeing Anders work, shortly after reaching Skyhold. A quick feel with his magic over the occupied bedrolls convinced him he should start with with the scout with the infected leg wound. He'd only just got to her in time yesterday to stop the surgeon cutting the poor woman's leg off.

He crouched beside her. "How are you feeling? The swelling seems to have decreased markedly."

The answer came from a shadow that knelt beside Anders. "Pain, dull, throbbing like a heartbeat, but it's good because it means it's still there."

"Hello, Cole," he said, managing a smile for the spirit boy, much though he didn't really feel like smiling. He managed to hold it long enough to direct at the scout too as he started directing more healing into the damaged tissue.

"Hello," Cole replied, then quietly watched him work for long moments. He didn't speak again until Anders was done with the scout and standing up to move on to the next patient. "You smile, but it doesn't match your insides. Hiding the hurt by healing, helping... You like to help, to heal, but this isn't about that. You'd run if you could, but you can't."

"Did my distress summon you?" Anders asked, interested despite himself. He didn't really mind Cole seeing inside him like that. After all, he was used to sharing his inner world with a spirit.

"I heard, but I was already here." Cole looked out at the wounded. "Their pain is very loud, but here is where I can help the most."

Anders frowned, looking around. "I'm glad I can't feel it," he admitted. "I have enough problems dealing with my own." He moved to the next urgent case, a templar who'd not been here yesterday. His head was bandaged and bloodied. Anders crouched down and asked the man, "Will you let me help?"

The man didn't answer, just frowned in what Anders would've taken as disapproval if Cole hadn't spoken up. "He wants you to help. The pain has driven his words away so he can't tell you, but he wants you to make it better."

It was good enough as permission went. He just liked to avoid being smited when possible. The man's injury was worse than it had seemed to start with as his brain was swelling in his skull. Anders sorted that out immediately, knowing how quickly damage could become irreversible in situations like this.

Once he was done, he called to the surgeon, "This man needs clean bandages. I'll be back to tend to the flesh wound side of his injury tomorrow. The bone is now healed."

He looked up to see Cole standing a couple of feet away. "It hurts, it hurts, oh Maker, someone make it stop hurting." He turned to Anders, grabbing onto his arm and tugging him across to another seriously wounded soldier. "The other healers have done all they can for him, but it will take him hours to die and every minute will be agony. Please, make him stop hurting."

"He's not going to die, Cole." Anders shook his head, crouched at the soldier's side and told him that in person, hoping he could hear through his agony. "You're not going to die, and your pain will be a lot less very soon."

None of the man's individual wounds were that severe; it was just that there was so many of them. He hadn't been triaged well either; infection was settling in. This was going to use a lot of Anders' power. Hopefully, the man was the last of the urgent cases.

When he was finished, and the man was out of danger, he looked up to find Cole standing there holding both a lyrium potion and a waterskin. "He would've died without you," he said, offering both to Anders.

"Thank you," Anders said with a more genuine smile than earlier as he took both. He drank the potion first, and once he could feel it taking effect, then swigged some water. "I think I'll take a little breather before I look at the others. Just a minute or so." He decided to use the time removing the dirty bandages this man no longer needed.

"Do you spend all your time here?" he asked Cole.

"Not all," Cole replied. "A lot though. Here is where I'm needed the most." He cocked his head as he looked at Anders. "You don't think it is where you're needed the most though."

He knew what Cole was referring to, obviously. "I wouldn't say that, not exactly. These people's needs are clearly more urgent than Hawke's right now. I just... I realise that my own very strong need is to be with Hawke, but he's still the only one who can close the rifts. Without him, we'd all be neck deep in the sewage, and I'm the only spirit healer for miles. I need to be with him when he goes into danger, to keep him alive. Not just for me, but for everyone."

"Want to stay with him, always, make him promise not to send me away again, but refused, rebuffed, rejected. He won't promise, can't promise, so I walk away first." Cole frowned. "You left because he wouldn't promise to let you stay always. I don't understand."

"I only left the room! It's not like I've packed my things and stalked off into the icy wilderness." Anders sighed heavily as he considered Cole's words. "But that's what he thinks, isn't it? How it feels to him?" He sat down properly and rubbed his face with his hands.

"It's true I was separating myself from him for a bit. It was that or have a tantrum the like of which the world has never seen, which would be both humiliating and profoundly selfish, considering. But I'm not actually going anywhere. I'm still here."

"He thinks you're punishing him, making him choose." His voice took on the cadence of thoughts he was hearing. Hawke's. "Stupid , stupid, stupid. Should never have agreed. The way he looked at me... Need to be able to promise, but can't promise, not when I can't speak for just me. Won't lie to him. But I can't do this without him. Maker, I _can't_ do this. Not if this is the cost. Have to tell them, take it back."

Anders stared at Cole, twisting round to do so directly. "He's really considering saying no?"

"Decided and determined, resolutely resolved," Cole told him. "He chooses you."

Anders felt the strength go out of him like deflating bellows. At the same time that there was relief, vindication, and Maker, such joy, he was simultaneously aware that Hawke must never be allowed to do this. And not just because it would potentially move him from most hated man in Thedas to most hated man in history... although now that he thought about that, it was a damned good reason too.

He dragged himself up to his feet. "Where is he? He hasn't done it yet, has he? I need to stop him."

Cole pointed up the stairs that led to the upper courtyard. "He hasn't, but you should hurry."

He started towards the steps, tripped, and then... he was at the top of them, impossibly fast. That was the second time he'd done that, but he didn't have the time to think about it now. He took the next set of steps more normally, ran past Cassandra and the advisors who were chatting at the top, and slammed through the main doors to the fortress straight into Hawke himself who was coming the other way, looking grim.

He grabbed Hawke's arms initially to stop himself falling, but then kept hold of them, shaking him slightly. "Don't do it. You mustn't do it," he said with breathless urgency.

Hawke's expression went from surprised, through relieved, to soothing in turn. "It's all right," he told Anders. "I'm not going to. I already decided to tell them I can't–"

"No! No, no, no! You have to tell them yes! No one else could do it. It has to be you."

But Hawke was shaking his head. "They can find someone else. I want– I _need_ to give you what you need, and as much as I might want to I can't give you that promise if I let them make me Inquisitor."

Anders shook him again. "Hawke, listen to me. Say yes. I _want_ you to say yes."

"But..." Hawke's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "You said... and you left! I can't–"

Anders suddenly felt stupid and weary, or stupidly weary, one or the other. "I just needed some space, love. I only went to the injured camp. It is incredibly, wonderfully gratifying that you were prepared to say no for me. I'll never forget that. But all the same, you mustn't."

"Oh," Hawke said faintly. He looked chagrined for a moment before focusing a sharp gaze on Anders. "You're okay with that? Even if I have to make decisions I otherwise might not make?"

"I'll never be okay with you doing dangerous things without me; I'll hate every second and no doubt express myself volubly on the subject. But I'm not going to _leave_ you over it, and it in no way means I want you to refuse the title that's rightfully yours!"

Hawke stared at him for a moment, then kissed him. When he pulled back far enough to lean his forehead against Anders' he was smiling a little. "I guess I should've asked if that was really an ultimatum you were giving me before I let you walk out of our quarters."

"I don't remember giving an ultimatum," Anders murmured, feeling confused but also guilty. More guilty. "For the record, Hawke, while I remain me, I'll never leave you. I'll yell and stomp my feet and be a general pain in your arse, but unless you turn around and tell me to go, I'm here."

"Now that I _can_ promise won't ever happen," Hawke said, seeming happy to be able to do so.

Anders became aware that they were gathering quite an audience of onlookers. He pulled back reluctantly. "Go and say yes, love."

Hawke grinned and kissed him again before turning to join the advisors on the stairs outside great hall. Where a supposedly impromptu coronation of sorts took place.

The brief ceremony was masterfully orchestrated for maximum inspiration while still seeming spontaneous. The courtyard below was suddenly thronging with people. Anders watched as Hawke took up the truly ridiculously large sword Leliana offered, and he listened as Hawke said a few words about standing with them as a mage, not over them, and showing them a new way. Then Cullen incited the crowd below into loud cheering as Hawke raised the sword heroically over his head.

And there, with every eye upon him, that was when Hawke's gaze sought for and found Anders, grinning at him like a child who had just done something terribly clever that would probably get them both into awful trouble.

And Anders couldn't help but grin right back.

***

Dorian was ensconced in the sunny nook in the library he had claimed doing research. At least that was what he was planning on telling anyone who asked. And there was a certain amount of truth to it, just not in the usual way.

He had finally come upon a copy of the infamous _Tale of the Champion_ in one of the boxes of tomes that had been delivered to the library – donations from one noble or another to the Inquisition efforts, or possibly someone somewhere was throwing things out without having to endure the guilt of actually destroying books. Dorian was willing to bet it was closer to the latter considering the quality or lack thereof of the books in question.

He wasn't entirely sure yet if he was including The Tale of the Champion in that opinion or not. It was rather luridly written, words and situations chosen for obviously maximum dramatic appeal, but having met many of the people in it, Dorian could see where a lot of what he would've thought were exaggerations were probably nothing of the kind.

Still he found it frustrating to read. Not because of what was in it, but what wasn't.

To put it plainly, he wanted more of Fenris' backstory.

"Finally found a copy, did you?" asked an amused voice from close by. Varric.

"Do you always pop up when someone is reading one of your books?" Dorian asked curiously. "Or just the ones that are most likely well on their way to being declared some kind of holy scripture? I think there's at least five copies in the library now. Donations all."

"Unless they were bought in order to donate, I don't think their presence here is exactly a compliment," Varric said with a chuckle. "And yes, you've caught me. My special super power is knowing when someone turns a page of one of my volumes."

"Well, it certainly makes it easier to ask you questions about the text," Dorian said. He looked around and then gestured at a padded footstool in the corner as the only other place to sit in the nook other than the floor.

"If you've spotted a spelling mistake I don't want to know," Varric said as he sat down. "What I pay that editor for, I've no idea."

"I thought those were just part of your charming Southern culture," Dorian quipped. "No, I was wondering more about certain story elements."

Varric levelled a look at him. "Let me guess, a certain broody elf?"

Despite his best efforts, Dorian felt the heat of a blush on his face. "Ah, I was wondering if you go into more details about people who are not Hawke further in, and that would include Fenris, yes."

"And no one else, yeah? Unless they're talking to the elf, or fighting him or whatever?" Varric laughed. "What do you want to know? I'm not gonna tell you anything too private. That you'll have to ask him yourself."

"Anything really," Dorian said, aware he might be sounding more desperate than he liked, but unable to school his voice to the proper level of casual. "He's told me a little about his past but that's all been rather... private confidences." To put it mildly.

"So you've had the private stuff and want the public stuff? That I can do. Hmm, has he told you about his mansion in Kirkwall?"

"The one with the excellently stocked wine cellar? He's mentioned it, yes."

"He claimed that place the first night we met him, after we killed the silly number of demons Danarius or someone acting for him had left there. Six years later and he still hadn't cleared out the corpses of slain guards and so on. In the end, we had an intervention."

Dorian felt his mouth twitch as he held back a smile at the mental image that was giving him – one glowering, glowing elf facing Hawke and Varric and the others Dorian hadn't met as they tried to explain to him why corpses were not a valid decorating choice. "How did that go?"

"Well, the short version is that we smuggled out a cartload of mummified corpses under the cover of darkness and took to the hills. We had a bonfire under the stars and drank, told stories – you know, the usual. Broody, once he was drunk enough, made some toasts to the corpses. Apparently he'd named a few."

"That is either incredibly adorable or incredibly sad," Dorian said, caught between delight and sorrow that Fenris had actually made friends out of corpses. "Perhaps both."

"Ah, don't feel sorry for him," Varric said. "Let's just say there were a lot more sword wounds in the corpses by the time we burnt them than when Broody took possession of the place. I think he used them as target practice. I'm just glad he hadn't named one 'Anders'... that I know of."

Using corpses for target practice was sufficiently more well adjusted than having them as friends so Dorian allowed himself to be reassured. "I'll just be grateful then that the rooms we were exploring here only had broken furniture in them. Just because I know necromancy doesn't mean I want to sleep in a room with a corpse watching me."

"There were none in his bedroom, if it makes you feel better," Varric said with a laugh but then he sobered. "I think it took him a while to understand the whole process involved in owning things."

Dorian felt what was becoming a familiar burst of shame at that. "That's not surprising, when you think about it. Even when slaves are treated well and allowed... possessions, legally everything still belongs to their owner." He frowned. "I never understood growing up why the slaves at our estates seemed so... detached. Frankly, I just thought it was the way elves were. Now, looking back, I can't believe how blind I was to the realities of the situation, wilfully so."

"Better late than never," Varric said with a shrug. "Fenris seems to have forgiven you the sin of your heritage, anyway. Say, can I ask you something?"

"Of course," Dorian said. "It would hardly be fair of me to refuse, considering how many questions I've asked you."

"Just what possessed the both of you to get out of your gourds on regeneration potions?"

Dorian spread his hands. "We didn't have any wine and very much wanted to get drunk."

Varric shook his head, looking mildly appalled. "Sparkler, I like good drink as much as the next dwarf, but that? Not healthy. Don't go getting the elf into the kind of mindset where anything vaguely alcoholic will do, okay? He's got issues enough."

Dorian felt vaguely horrified at the suggestion. "There were extenuating circumstances," he explained quickly. "He'd been trapped in his head by a demon. He needed an outlet and that seemed the least evil of possible choices available. I don't generally go around advocating that kind of risky behavior to those I car– I consider friends. Well, beyond what risk there is involved in just being seen with me, I suppose."

"All right, enough said. It's obvious you're good for him. I don't think I've ever seen him so calm as he's been since we got here. So you'll get no more awkward chats with me." Varric smiled and then grinned fully, chuckling. "Hawke might be another matter though."

As terrifying as having that kind of conversation with Hawke of all people was, Dorian found he couldn't even make himself dread it. "Fenris is worth it," he said, holding his head up, aware that he was showing more of his feelings than he usually was comfortable with, but he had the inkling that Varric already had him figured out enough that to deny them would seem like he was a liar. "He is... remarkable."

That won him a softer smile from Varric. "I'm glad you think that. Now, how about I tell you of the time Fenris won Isabela's ship in a game of Wicked Grace. Of course, it was in pieces on the seabed at the time..."

***

Hawke stared at the monstrosity in dismay.

The repairs on Skyhold were going fast and furious, so much so that it seemed that any time Hawke went anywhere in the fortress he came upon something new that hadn't been there the last time he looked.

Descending from his quarters to the Great Hall that morning had not been an exception. They'd finally got the last of the rubble cleared out from the dais at the end of the room and the windows behind it that had been cracked or broken had all been replaced with new stained glass pieces with an Inquisition motif. Because that was what everybody wanted, right? A huge bank of windows, each of them adorned with a stylized eyeball staring down at them. Hawke could only hope that he wouldn't feel like they were following him every time he moved.

Though he supposed he should be grateful they went with an Inquisition inspired theme and not, say, something with a stylized hawk holding a staff (he'd actually spotted a sketch like that down in the Undercroft amongst other building designs) or something equally embarrassing. Eyeballs, at least, weren't someone trying to put some version of him into the decor.

So the windows were slightly disturbing, but could've been worse. It was what was set on the middle of the dais that had Hawke staring in dismay.

Ambassador Montilyet chose that moment to approach him, no doubt with some kind of issue or other he would need to handle, but Hawke spoke before she could.

"What," he said, pointing dramatically, "is _that_?"

"It's a throne, Inquisitor," Josephine replied as if it was perfectly reasonable for Hawke not to know what a throne was.

"I can see it's a throne," Hawke replied. "I haven't taken _that_ many hits to the head. What I meant is what is it doing there? Last I checked, I hadn't actually become royalty or taken over a kingdom or anything."

"No, but you have stepped into a position of power, and part of that power includes passing judgement on those turned over to the Inquisition," Josephine told him.

That was what Hawke had thought, or more precisely, what he had feared. He crossed his arms over his chest. "What if I don't want to pass judgment on people?" he asked mulishly. "All the paperwork that comes with this job is bad enough. I don't want to start sentencing people to death. I get a high enough body count in battle, I don't need to add to it afterwards."

Josephine paused before answering, long enough for Hawke to realize exactly how out of sorts he was sounding. Maker, it was like he was channelling his brother with his eternal grumpiness. But he couldn't quite find his usual humour when dealing with this particular issue.

He had no problem leading people into fights against unbeatable odds, that was old hat for him by now. Judging them, however, was another thing entirely. Just the thought made him have to repress a shiver, with the phantom taste of ashes on his tongue and the memory of a dagger in his hand.

No. Being told he had to judge someone was not something he could ever make light of.

"Judging doesn't have to mean death," Josephine said. "In fact, a mind creative enough could come up with alternatives that may make death seem a mercy."

Hawke's mouth twitched into a wry grin at that. "I'm not sure that is actually encouragement."

Josephine touched his arm gently, her gaze full of kindness as she clarified. He wondered if she knew enough about the details of his past to figure out where his mind had gone. "What I mean is that there are no set punishments, deaths or otherwise, that you are forced to bestow. The only dictates you must follow are those of your own conscience."

"And you and the other advisors won't be heavily hinting at what my conscience should be telling me to do to avoid political or religious complications?" he asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"We would be willing to give our opinions if you ask, of course, but I'm sure I speak for all your advisors when I say that is all they will be – opinions." She held Hawke's gaze seriously as she continued. " _You_ are the Inquisitor, chosen for that position for so much more than the mark on your hand. We will not second guess or try to manipulate your decisions. On this you have my word."

Hawke believed her. He took a deep breath and let it out. This was not Kirkwall and Josephine and the others were not Meredith. When Josephine said he would have to judge, it was not a way to try and control his actions, or a hidden trap with teeth ready to bite him.

He wasn't sure if only having to answer to his own conscience was going to make judging people any easier, but it felt like it would be... cleaner somehow.

"So how is this going to work then exactly?" he asked with a sigh, capitulating. "Are there going to be weekly Hawke tries not to throw a tantrum when told he has to sit on that monstrosity and pretend he knows what he's doing sessions?"

"Nothing quite so regimented, I assure you," Josephine replied. "I will brief you fully beforehand, and you will have time to do your own research if you desire before the actual public judgment. Then, when you are ready, we'll have those who are to be judged brought in front of you."

It was obvious to Hawke she was trying to make the whole system as low pressure for him as possible – probably to avoid the aforementioned tantrums on his behalf. Whatever the reason, he was grateful for it. "Is there anyone you need to brief me on now?"

"There are two, yes. I'll have the briefings sent to your quarters for you to look at at your leisure," Josephine said. "Though, you're already somewhat familiar with them both."

"That's not nearly as reassuring as you think it is," Hawke told her wryly, but then acquiesced. "I'll look what you send me over as soon as I have the chance."

That gave him at least a little wriggle room, he thought. After all, being Inquisitor made a man very busy indeed.

***

"So I've been told I'm not to encourage you to try new and interesting attempts at inebriation," Dorian greeted Fenris, sitting down beside the elf and offering him one of two tankards of Ferelden Ale he'd procured from the dwarven bartender. "Thankfully, nothing was said about tried and true methods or we would be very sad and very sober."

Fenris looked taken aback. "Hawke?"

"Think shorter and with more chest hair," Dorian advised, thinking that he probably should have been more disappointed than he was that his knowledge of the newly minted Inquisitor's chest hair came from nothing more illicit than a card game.

"Oh." Fenris snorted with humour. "I've seen him down any number of potions over the years. Does he think you're leading me astray?"

"He was... concerned," Dorian acknowledged. "But I think I talked him out of it." He shook his head, smiling. "I'm not used to being so accepted," he continued, only partially joking. "It's downright disturbing."

"You're one of Hawke's extended family now, Dorian," Fenris said after taking a drink. "That honour comes with a gaggle of ready made friends, including several you've not even met yet."

"I've heard of them, however. Varric's been gracing me with tales not found within Tale of the Champion." He grinned knowingly at Fenris. "Very interesting tales."

Fenris narrowed his eyes. "Do I even want to know?"

"Probably not, but I'm curious, and Varric didn't say." Dorian paused for dramatic effect, taking a drink before continuing. "Whatever did you name the corpses?"

"What? Oh. Those corpses. Well, I did tell you I was more used to chaotic surroundings." Fenris put his tankard down. "I didn't name _all_ of them anyway."

Dorian nodded seriously. Then, deadpan, he asked, "Just your favourites?"

"They were corpses, not a rich child's menagerie of stuffed animal toys. I didn't _have_ favourites." Fenris was squirming a bit in his seat now. "I mostly named them after magisters anyway, and free people that did the bidding of magisters."

"Ah. That would explain the extra sword cuts Varric mentioned," Dorian said not bothering to hide his smile at how adorable he was finding Fenris right now.

"You're teasing me," Fenris said, but he only sounded mildly disgruntled.

"I just enjoy finding out new things about you," Dorian told him warmly, leaning over the table towards him. "Especially when they're good things. I like knowing there have been good things."

Fenris gave him a sideways look. "And... keeping corpses around the house is a good thing?"

"For anyone else, probably not. But somehow, when it's you, it's oddly endearing."

Fenris laughed, moving his hands on the table so the back of one touched Dorian's. "Maybe we can visit Kirkwall one day. I can show you the sights – the blackened hole where the chantry once stood, the red lyrium statue that was once a woman, Hawke's collection of torn trousers..."

Dorian was surprised to feel his face heat at that single simple touch. After all, he was no blushing virgin, but somehow this... involvement seemed different. More. "I've actually been to Kirkwall." Greatly daring, he turned his hand enough so their fingers could entwine. People had seen them huddled together on the road to Skyhold, of course, but somehow it seemed different now. "Saw the hole, missed the trousers. Thought the whole place was a bit of a shithole, honestly. Perhaps I just lacked the right company."

"I don't have experience of many other cities," Fenris said, slowly moving his fingers in Dorian's, almost like a caress. "Minrathous, Vyrantium, Alam if it counts. But I agree with your assessment of Kirkwall."

"But it's a place that means something to you." He was acutely aware of where their fingers were touching, that he was essentially holding hands with another man in public. Even though he knew it probably wasn't true, it felt like everyone in the tavern was staring at them because of it. But he didn't let go in spite of his discomfort. They weren't in Tevinter anymore, and he knew this wasn't a big deal here. He just needed to convince his subconscious of that.

Fenris was having to be brave to move forward with this... arrangement between them; the least Dorian could do was face his own demons head on.

"It's where I found out who I am now. It was a... slow process, and it wouldn't have happened at all without Hawke, Varric and the others. Well, some of the others." Fenris snorted softly.

"Then perhaps I should visit Kirkwall again. Shithole or not, many important things happened there that deserve their due." He paused and tilted his head down enough that he could glance up at Fenris through his lashes, a more blatant look than he usually allowed himself in public. "I _like_ who you are now."

"Good," Fenris said, a hint of smugness in his voice, and Dorian felt legs being interlaced with his own below the table, much as their fingers were. Fenris then asked in a casual tone, "Do you know how much I want to back you into a wall and kiss you stupid when you look at me like that?"

In spite of his resolve, Dorian couldn't stop himself from glancing around to see if anyone had overheard. He was able to relax a little when no one seemed to be paying attention to them at all. "Quite a lot, I should hope, considering that's the entire point of that look," he said as airily as he could manage.

Fenris, it seemed, had noticed the glance around. "No one here is going to disparage you for showing affection to a man, Dorian. Other reasons, perhaps, but not that."

He gave Fenris a weak smile, shamed to have been caught out. "Old habits die hard."

"You know I get how hard." Fenris smile was slanted. "Pun not intended. We do gather glances, I know, but it's not because of our sex."

"Of course. It's more of an issue of being perceived as the evil magister and the strange glowing, glowering elf that has the Inquisitor's friendship," Dorian said. "I wonder how many of our observers have read Varric's tale and thus are waiting for you to demonstrate your heart removing abilities on me."

That made Fenris scowl around at their observers, most of whom quickly looked away. He sighed. "They'll get used to us in time, I suppose." He gripped Dorian's hand more fully and asked. "Do you want to escape their gaze?"

He did, but he didn't want Fenris to feel like he thought he was a dirty secret. He'd been the dirty secret enough times to ever wish it on someone else that he cared about. "Do you want to?" he countered.

Fenris seemed to study him for several moments before nodded decisively and standing. "Let's go. I found something earlier you might enjoy. Two things."

Curiosity overcame any of his lingering discomfort. "Oh?" he asked, standing as well. "Do I get to know what, or are you going to insist on being mysterious?"

Laughing, Fenris headed for the door. "You won't have to be patient for long. Let's just say they cater to two different enthusiasms you hold."

"Mysterious it is then," Dorian observed, trying to sound irritated, but even to himself mostly just sounding happy.

Fenris led him inside the main hall and through a door in the middle of the right wall. "They finished clearing the way down here this morning," he said, starting down some stairs.

"What did they find? More corpses for you to name?" Dorian teased as he followed the elf, eyes lowered to watch his footing on the unfamiliar and very recently covered in rubble stairs.

"Well, I suppose corpses could be said to cater to an enthusiasm of yours," Fenris answered thoughtfully, waiting at the bottom.

"It's true I have a talent with them," Dorian admitted modestly. "Though however many I reanimate to fight my battles, I have never actually named any of them."

"Maybe you should." Fenris took his hand. "Come on. You'll like this, and the only corpses you're likely to meet are those of spiders. Normal sized spiders."

Dorian sighed theatrically, even as he allowed Fenris to drag him along. "It says so much about my life's choices that that is a clarification that needs to be made."

"The lands around Kirkwall seemed populated almost entirely with Tal Vashoth and giant spiders, with the odd revenant, ogre or high dragon thrown in to spice things up." Fenris stopped them in an area thick with dust-heavy web. "Here we are. What do you think?"

"Are you sure about the spiders?" Dorian asked as he ducked to avoid the webs hanging in the way. "Because those are ambitiously sized webs for normal sized spi–" His voice died away as he stepped far enough into the small room to see that the walls were all covered with shelves of books, with more books piled in the center around an open tome that was almost as tall as Fenris. "Oh," he said faintly, staring.

Fenris' chuckle would have been annoyingly smug if it wasn't for... well, this. "I'm sure these are better than unwanted 'donations'," he said.

"That remains to be seen," Dorian said, trying for skeptical and missing it entirely. This was a library full of books no one had touched in decades. Centuries maybe. Even if they were utter drivel, their very age and isolation made the idea of reading them exciting.

"I probably should have shown you this second," Fenris said, chuckling as he carefully used his sword to clear a lot of the web away.

Dorian heard the words, but they didn't really register as he stepped closer to a shelf to peer at the titles on the book spines. He didn't recognise all the titles, but those he did were rare enough to make his heart pound faster. He glanced over his shoulder at Fenris. "I am thinking about pushing you up against one of these shelves and kissing you senseless."

"I can't imagine I'll object," Fenris said drolly, "but do you want to risk damaging the books?"

"I'll just have to be careful about which part of the shelves I push you up against," Dorian all but purred, stalking towards Fenris with a deliberate stride and a heated gaze.

Fenris put his sword on the table but otherwise just waited, putting his hands on Dorian as soon as he was close enough.

Dorian rested his hands on Fenris' bare arms, leant in and kissed him, pulling back when it threatened to turn into more than just kissing. Slow, he reminded himself. They were taking things slow. "Thank you for thinking of me when you found this place," he said softly.

"Who else?" Fenris asked, leaning forward and trying to restart the kiss.

He wasn't sure if he should allow it, but Dorian found himself unable to resist. They kissed longer this time, stumbling back without stopping, until Dorian found _himself_ with his back up against the edge of one of the shelves, Fenris plastered against him.

Fenris' hand was behind Dorian's neck, the fingers moving over his hair where it was short and furlike. He broke the kiss long enough to tell Dorian in a throaty voice, "You taste better than fine wine."

Dorian couldn't suppress a needy moan at that. " _Kaffas_ ," he swore, sliding a hand along the side of Fenris' neck, caressing the lyrium markings there with his thumb. "Has anyone ever told you your voice sounds like sex?"

The lyrium sparked to life under his touch, and Fenris' eyes flickered shut in response, a low sound escaping his mouth. "D– Dorian..."

"I like the sound of my name in your mouth," Dorian told him, leaning in again to place nipping kisses along his jawline and down onto his throat, the taste of lyrium suddenly warm and heady against his tongue.

Fenris groaned, moving against Dorian, holding his shoulders. "All I can think about is having you naked, being able to touch you, all of you, of feeling your skin against mine. Dorian... _kaffas_ , we have to stop."

As much as he was getting lost in a cloud of desire and want, those words stopped him cold. He couldn't move away, backed against the bookshelf as he was, but he raised his head and pulled his hands away, holding them out at his sides. "Fenris..." He was breathing hard, half from lingering arousal and half from the fear that he'd pushed too far and ruined things.

"You make me so hard I can't think," Fenris muttered, backing off, his head bowed. "I'm sorry. I– That was my fault entirely."

"No," Dorian instantly denied. "I knew that was not slow, and I should've backed off. I just..." he gave a chuckle that came out sounding half hysterical, "...just wanted to forget slow and watch you come apart under me. If I'm honest, a large part of me still does."

He saw a shudder run through Fenris, who said, still in that deeper throaty voice, "You have no idea how much I want that too." He took a deep breath and looked up.

"I told you I didn't expect you to become my conscience, and I meant it. It's up to me to stop myself. It's just..." Fenris thrust his fingers into his hair and turned away, sounding just as frustrated as he probably was. "I don't even know if I'm making a fuss about nothing. I could be depriving us for no good reason at all. It's been years since Hawke and I..." He seemed to deflate then, adding quietly and rather plaintively, "I just want to touch you."

And that, that would never do. The whole point of this was to make things easier on Fenris, to not overwhelm him to the point where he felt like he had to run away to save himself. It wasn't to make him miserable. (Dorian didn't consider his own feelings at all, and if that wasn't a sign of how far gone he was he didn't know what was. He tried not to think about that part too hard.)

He took a deep breath, turning the problem over in his mind, finding it easier to think now that Fenris' obvious distress had chased away Dorian's lingering arousal. There had to a way to let them proceed with what they obviously both wanted and not risk overwhelming Fenris' senses like they had been in the past.

It was Fenris' own words that suggested a possible solution to Dorian. "Before," he began slowly, "with Hawke... you said it was him touching your markings that made it all too much. But when you touched him...?"

"I, uh, didn't. Not properly. He, uh. This is awkward." Fenris turned back to look at Dorian. "I'm not really capable of much when someone is using my markings, whether to take mana or just to... stimulate. I imagine I was designed that way. It sounds like something Danarius would do."

And of course Danarius would design it so that Fenris' own body would betray him when Danarius wanted to use him. The man had been an odious toad, and Dorian was glad all over again that Fenris had finally killed him.

But it did mean that Dorian's idea seemed to be sound, no matter how simple it was. "I... may have a solution then that will let us..."

"You do?" Fenris took a step forward, but he seemed hesitant.

"If you become overwhelmed when someone touches your markings, I won't touch you. You touch me." He paused. "I know that might not be fair, making you do all the work as it were, but–"

"Perfect," Fenris interrupted, moving a lot closer now, his sudden grin somewhat feral. "When and where do I get you naked?"

Dorian sputtered for a second, the arguments he had come up to convince Fenris dying unspoken under that eager gaze. "Uh," he said, swallowing, the heat of arousal coming back full force with Fenris looking at him like that. "Where do you want me?"

"Under me," Fenris said, laying a hand on Dorian's bare shoulder and stroking with his thumb. "On a bed. Somewhere warm so you don't start shivering again."

"I have the feeling that if this goes anywhere close to how I'm picturing, I'm going to be shivering no matter what the temperature," Dorian said with a wry humor that he was surprised he could still utilize through the building anticipation. "As for beds, I have a bedroom, you have a bedroom. One of those should suffice. Unless you know of one closer...?"

"I do, but I doubt our presence there would be appreciated." Fenris chuckled. "So a short walk followed by... touching. Let's go." He squeezed Dorian's shoulder.

"Hurray for experimentation," Dorian deadpanned as he made his way out of the old library as fast as he could without actually running.

Running would be undignified.

Varric was in the main hall and looked like he was about to say something as the pair passed, but Fenris just said, "Not now, dwarf," and pushed open the next door, striding through.

Dorian felt his face heat, sure that Varric and everyone else within earshot knew what they were about to do, but it didn't actually slow him down.

As Dorian's room was closest, it wasn't surprising that Fenris stopped there, testing the door to see if it was locked and then just heading on in. He stood to the side as Dorian followed him in and then leant a hand on the door to shut it behind them. Then he stood there, hand still on the door, staring avidly.

Dorian swallowed hard once, but then rallied and struck an alluring pose. "Like what you see?" he asked, turning so to show off all his assets. "I believe there was talk of getting me naked. Should I do the honors or would you like to–"

Fenris surged forward. "Hands off," he said, somehow sounding both amused and aroused at the same time. He slipped his hand under the thick strap that went over Dorian's right shoulder and unbuckled it. "That was the easy part. It didn't seem to achieve much." Letting the strap drop down Dorian's back, Fenris then moved to Dorian's right forearm and started unbuckling the wrapping there.

As much as Dorian was attached to his usual fashionable clothing, this was one time he wished he had chosen to wear something closer to traditional mage robes that required far less unfastening and unbuckling to remove. "Let me just–" he began, lifting his left hand to undo the main buckles on his top.

Fenris slapped his hand, albeit gently. "Let _me_."

Dorian let out an impatient huff of a sigh. "I would be naked a lot faster if you let me help."

"Learn patience," Fenris said. "I've heard it's useful in situations like these." Dorian was now down one glove/bracer combo and the other was being thoroughly tugged at.

"Patience has never been one of my strong suits," Dorian admitted, though he held still for Fenris to pull off his remaining bracer. Then Fenris moved behind him. He could feel straps being pulled and moved as Fenris figured out how they worked. Then they and his shoulder pad all fell to the floor at once.

"Better and better," Fenris purred, and Dorian felt a kiss on the back of his neck.

And already, Dorian was getting a hint of how difficult it was going to be to keep his hands to himself. All his instincts were saying to turn around and touch Fenris, undress him in return, but that wasn't what this was about. It couldn't be. Not if he didn't want to take away all of Fenris' control.

"I think," he said, even as Fenris moved to pull Dorian's loose shirt off, "that when we reach the part when I'm on the bed naked you might want to... restrain me in some way."

He felt Fenris stop moving. "Tie you up, you mean?"

"I'm told I look stunning in rope," Dorian joked, but then added more serious, "I don't want to ruin what seems so far to be working by forgetting I'm not allowed to touch."

He felt Fenris hands smooth over his now naked back. "Have you spare straps?"

He had better than those. "There's some silk scarves in the chest of drawers," he said, gesturing to the piece of furniture in question. "Top drawer."

"Do you wear silk scarves a lot?" Fenris asked, humour in his voice as his arms circled Dorian's waist from behind and unfastened his belt.

"Perhaps I use them for dancing."

"Of course you do." Fenris' hands slid down Dorian's hips and then his legs. Then he felt his leather spats being undone. Fenris made quick work of them and then the chaps and shoes, leaving Dorian in just his breeches. "You're shivering already. Light the fire."

Dorian did so with a thought and a gesture, though any shivering he was doing wasn't from the cold. "Are you going to slap my hands away again if I try to take off my own breeches?"

"Yes." Fenris stood and moved around to face Dorian again. He lifted his hands to Dorian's face and kissed him thoroughly. "Get on the bed," he instructed as he drew back.

Dorian wasn't usually one for unquestioning obedience, but in this case he couldn't move fast enough to do what he was told, stretching out on the mattress and raising his hands above his head.

Fenris went straight over to the chest of drawers and removed a handful of colourful silk. Then he seemed to study Dorian's new bed, which was aggravating because he surely should have been studying Dorian under the circumstances.

Kneeling one leg on the bed, Fenris quickly tied Dorian's wrists together with what felt like an unusual binding, wrapping as it did through the fingers as well as around the wrists. After some more fiddling above Dorian's head, Fenris asked, "How's that feel?"

Giving an experimental tug, Dorian found he had a little bit of give, but not enough to allow him to forget himself and touch. And though they were tied in such a way that he wouldn't be able to get free without using his magic, it was surprisingly comfortable. "Workable," he said, looking up at Fenris through his lashes again like he had in the tavern. "I'm at your mercy it seems."

Fenris rubbed his hand over his mouth, his gaze now moving up and down Dorian. "A heady feeling, this power." He met Dorian's eyes. "Thank you, for trusting me."

A warm feeling that had nothing to do with arousal surged through Dorian at that though he tried not to dwell on it. It was... too much for him to be able to acknowledge, not yet. Instead he gave Fenris a teasing smile. "I'm confident you'll make it worth my while."

Leaning on his hands, Fenris lowered his head to kiss Dorian, but then backed off the bed, and with a slanted grin, began to strip off his armour.

"Excellent! A show!" Dorian declared, watching Fenris with an appreciative smile. "I... wasn't sure how mutual the nakedness in this little experiment was going to be."

Fenris raised an eyebrow. "You thought I'd keep my armour on?" But it wasn't just his armour coming off. He was very quickly naked, and Dorian could see for himself the extent of the lyrium markings, in that they were pretty much everywhere over that golden – and aroused – skin.

Dorian, of course, still had his breeches on, and he thought he perhaps knew the reason why when Fenris moved nimbly onto the bed and straddled his hips, grinning.

Dorian couldn't help but smile back helplessly because really how was he supposed to resist _that_? "Maker, you're gorgeous." He found himself tugging on his bonds and had to make a conscious effort to stop.

"You should see yourself," Fenris drawled. "How _do_ you keep your body like this anyway?" he went on to ask, stroking firm flat hands up Dorian's chest. "Magic? Secret sessions with the cook's largest weights? You're... stunning."

Usually Dorian took such compliments in stride – he knew what he looked like, after all – but somehow, in this situation, with this person, the words made him flush. "You'd be amazed at exactly how much work actually is required to perform battle magic as flawlessly and effortlessly as I do. A staff can get awfully heavy, awfully fast if you haven't built up your stamina."

"Don't wiggle," Fenris warned, continuing the stroke of his hands upwards to Dorian's shoulders and then letting his chest rest on Dorian's, his eyes closing.

This brought Fenris close enough that Dorian could feel his breath against his face. "Hello," he said softly, his voice coming out more tender than even he had ever heard it before.

"Hello," Fenris replied, eyes still shut. "This feels... like such a luxury." He leant lower and located Dorian's mouth for a gentle, sensual kiss.

Dorian kissed him back, feeling his heart rate calm as they made out, arousal building slowly forging a connection with none of the frantic urgency that had characterised their earlier encounters.

When Fenris eventually pulled back, he looked at Dorian with eyes that seemed mostly pupil, so large and dark were they. His breathing was heavy, but slow, calm. He kissed around Dorian's jaw to then catch an earlobe between his lips and gently nip it. Then he whispered into Dorian's ear. "You must tell me if this gets too much, what I'm about to do."

Dorian breathed out a laugh. "Right now, I can't imagine anything you do being too much, but I promise."

Fenris nipped Dorian's earlobe again and then moved lower, kissing and nibbling over the veins in Dorian's neck. Meanwhile, his hands stroked firmly up Dorian's tethered arms. "Tell me," he murmured, "do you have any extra-sensitive areas beyond the obvious?"

"I've got ticklish knees," Dorian replied cheekily. Though really, the way Fenris' touch was raising goosebumps in its wake, he had the feeling that his entire body was going be an extra-sensitive area before they were done.

"Knees. I see," Fenris said, drawing his hands back before sliding them up Dorian's arms again. But this time it felt different, stranger, more intense, and Dorian caught a flash of brighter light to either side of his head. "Just knees?"

"Are you..." Dorian turned his head this way and that, trying to see, "are you using your glowing powers on me?"

"Very carefully. You're in no danger."

The idea of danger hadn't even entered Dorian's mind. "I trust you," he said quickly before Fenris could think otherwise. "I just find it all rather _fascinating_."

"I'd rather you found it stimulating," Fenris said dryly, drawing his slightly translucent hands over Dorian's chest as he slowly sat up, the movement causing interesting pressure changes over Dorian's groin.

"Can't I find it both?" he asked, craning to watch Fenris' hands move, his breath catching as a finger brushed one of his nipples.

"That's permitted." Fenris smiled, and clearly having noticed Dorian's response, he began to circle Dorian's nipples with his glowing index fingers.

Try as he might to remain still, he couldn't help but squirm under the attention, unconsciously pulling at the bonds that held him fast as he arched up against Fenris' hands.

In honesty, it was like nothing he'd ever felt before, like the Fade itself was reaching out and caressing him. It took what would have been a pleasurable touch on its own and made it _more_ – intense, pleasurable, everything. Just more.

"It's... ah!... definitely stimulating," he managed to say, but his voice came out deeper, rougher, like he'd already been wrecked.

Chuckling, Fenris bent to place a kiss over Dorian's solar plexus. Then he began to draw a trail with his firm tongue down Dorian's stomach, until he met the breeches' waistband. He began to unlace them, saying, "Time to get rid of these."

"Past time," Dorian corrected, lifting his hips to make it easier to remove them. "You did say you wanted me naked under you, after all."

"Mmm. Then your smalls better go as well." Dorian was quickly naked, but Fenris wasn't touching him. He was, to put it bluntly, staring hungrily at Dorian's cock. "Every part of you is perfect," he murmured, almost below his breath.

Fenris' words sent another pulse of pleasure deeper than arousal through Dorian, but he did his best to focus on the physical because that part he understood. "As much as I appreciate the compliments, I did mention how patience was not my strong suit, yes?" He lifted his hips again, trying to entice Fenris to touch.

Putting his hands on Dorian's hips, Fenris gently but firmly forced him back down to the bed. "I should probably make you wait longer," he said thoughtfully, moving his hands, translucent again, down to the tops of Dorian's legs.

Which felt good, but also vexing, having Fenris' hands so close to where he really wanted them. "You," he declared, biting back a moan of frustration, "are a giant tease."

"Am I?" Fenris laughed. "If so I'm teasing myself as much as I am you." He moved his hands inwards, parting Dorian's legs a little, and then stroked down towards his knees. "Ticklish, you say?"

Dorian went completely still. "Don't you dare."

"You could always tell me a different sensitive area," Fenris offered, moving infuriating, glowing thumbs in circles under Dorian's knees.

Dorian yelped, kicking out involuntarily. He hadn't lied about being ticklish and the intensity of Fenris' glowing touch was almost too much.

And Fenris laughed, though he did stop the tickling, thank the Maker. "Interesting response."

He glared at the elf, but only for a brief moment. "If you're making a study, there's other places that will probably provide even more interesting responses," Dorian said archly, parting his legs and arching his hips again. "Do I really need to spell out what I want?"

"Probably wouldn't help if you did," Fenris said in a wry tone. Instead of tickling, he bent and kissed the side of Dorian's left knee. Then moving from one of Dorian's legs to the other and back again, Fenris kissed a trail up until finally, at last, his lips landed gently on the tip of Dorian's cock.

In any other circumstances, Dorian would've been embarrassed by the needy, high pitched whimper that came from him at that, but right then he was much more interested in encouraging Fenris to continue. "More. Please–" The word cut off in a gasp of pleasure.

Fenris had apparently had enough of teasing. He wrapped a hand, not currently glowing, around the base of Dorian's cock and kissed it again, this time opening his mouth and letting it slide through his lips, onto his tongue. He moaned softly around his mouthful and took it deeper.

Dorian let out a string of curses in Tevene, fingers and toes curling in pleasure. It had been longer than Dorian liked to think about since someone had touched him intimately and even then it hadn't felt like this. Somehow, looking down and seeing _Fenris_ between his legs made the whole thing more powerful.

Still, he wanted more. He wanted... "Fuck me," he begged, the words spilling out before he'd even fully completed the thought.  

Fenris made a gasping noise around him and pulled back. "I– I don't know if I can. I've never– The markings– _Kaffas_ , but I want to!"

Seeing Fenris' reaction made Dorian want – need – this all the more. But it was obvious he was going to have to take at least some control if they were going to manage. He took several deep breaths, not calming himself so much as forcing himself to think more coherently. "Don't worry," he told Fenris, giving him a heated and probably more than slightly mad smile. "We've got this far; we can do this too. I'll talk you through it, all right?

"All right." Fenris' own smile looked more than slightly ragged. "Should I untie you?"

The surge of denial Dorian felt at that suggestion came as something of a surprise. He hadn't realised until then exactly how much that part of this had been adding to his experience. "No," he said sharply and then more calmly, "That won't be necessary. I don't need my hands to talk you through this. Just my voice. All right?"

"All right," Fenris echoed again. His hand was still on Dorian's cock, and he started moving it almost absent-mindedly. "There was a spell that Hawke knew. Modified grease something or other."

"Yes, I know it. I think every male mage who's passed through puberty has sussed that one out," Dorian said. "Hold out your hand," he ordered, stubbornly maintaining his focus even as Fenris' absent-minded touch made it harder. Pun very much intended, he thought, swallowing an inappropriate laugh.  

Fenris held his free hand out, palm up, over Dorian's chest. "Here?"

"That will do." He cast the spell, silently congratulating himself that he could maintain enough concentration to do so when Fenris was still stroking his cock.  

Fenris made a strange little noise as his fingers and palm suddenly became coated in viscous grease, but he closed his fist on it and, letting go of Dorian's cock, moved so he was fully between Dorian's legs. "Now would seem a good time for the step by step guide."

Right. "First, you'll have to prepare me. It's been a while so best start with one finger. We'll go from there."

"I, uh, right."

After a short pause, Dorian felt a gloopy finger stroke down his perineum and then push a short way inside.

"Is this... correct?" Fenris asked hesitantly. "I'm trying to remember what Hawke did to me, but I was so... so out of control by that point. Danarius never bothered to–" He stopped what he was saying. "Sorry, hardly conducive conversation for something meant to be pleasant."

"It's okay," Dorian reassured him quickly, even as he added to his mental list of 'reasons I wish I'd had a chance to set Danarius on fire'. Then, returning to the much more pleasant matter at hand, "You're doing fine. Just... move around a bit and when you think you can, switch to two."

Fenris pressed further in, a look of deep concentration on his face. Hesitantly, he began to move his finger, quickly becoming more confident after checking on Dorian's expression. It wasn't long before a second finger joined the first. "I like the way this feels," he said throatily. "I suspect I'll like it even more when it's not my fingers."

"That makes–" Fenris' fingers brushed against his prostate, and Dorian's words devolved into a soft cry of pleasure. He tried again. "That makes two of us. More of that, please."

"Ah yes. I'd forgotten that... aspect." Fenris began to methodically fuck Dorian with his fingers, taking care with aim and pressure in a way clearly designed to make Dorian squirm. All the while, he was watching Dorian's face, a lip-biting smile of extreme smugness on his own.

" _Kaffas_ , you're a fast learner," Dorian muttered breathlessly. He was twitching and unable to hold back little moans of pleasure as Fenris basically played him like he was a lute and Fenris was a virtuoso.

"More," he said again, wanting it to continue, wanting to be able to get lost in what Fenris was doing. "Do the... do the glow trick."

"You get very bossy when you're aroused," Fenris noted casually, continuing to do exactly what he was already doing.

Dorian made a noise halfway between a growl and a groan.

Fenris still didn't do the 'glow trick', but he did bend over and start licking Dorian's cock back into full hardness while continuing the motion of his fingers.

Dorian's head fell back against the pillows with a moan, words temporarily stolen from him by what Fenris was making him feel. "That is an acceptable substitute," he murmured faintly when he remembered how to talk.

Fenris chuckled against him and then pushed in a third finger.

Dorian's whole body arched up when he did so, and he moaned much louder than he had up to now. His hips were moving back and forth between the dual stimulation of Fenris' mouth and Fenris' fingers caught in that place where too much and not enough began to feel like the same thing.

"More," he demanded, begged. "More."

"I think I may need more first," Fenris said, his voice somehow even deeper. His words confused Dorian until he looked up to see Fenris holding his free hand out.

It took an inordinate amount of time that in other circumstances would be embarrassing for Dorian to realize what Fenris wanted and then to remember how to cast the spell, but eventually he managed it.

"I am an absolutely brilliant mage to be able to cast while you are still doing _that_ ," he declared, wriggling his hips in lieu of being able to gesture at where Fenris still had three fingers moving inside of him.

"Sorry," Fenris said, not sounding it at all. "I should have stopped. Like this." He took his fingers all the way out and sat back on his heels.

Dorian's entirely instinctive reaction included a plaintive cry of denial and yanking on his restraints hard enough that the headboard actually creaked. "You can't just stop!" he said, trying to glare angrily at Fenris, but knowing he was too needy just then to actually pull it off.

Fenris just laughed and fondled his own hard cock, making a sticky sound. It said something about the state Dorian was in that it took him far too many moments to understand why Fenris was teasing him so. Really, it was only when Fenris started lifting Dorian's legs to let them rest on his shoulders that things started to make sense.

He made a low whining sound as Fenris slowly pushed into him, making him feel all hot and full and riding that edge of sensation so intense it straddled the thin line between pleasure and pain.

Fenris stopped when he was all the way in. He was breathing heavily, his eyes closed. "Are you... all right?" he asked raggedly.

It took a couple of seconds of just panting for air before he could find words. "Per– perfect," he stuttered. "Really." He tightened around Fenris' cock deliberately, letting out another little whine at how that made everything more intense. "You?"

"I... think so," Fenris said and began to move slowly. He swore softly in Tevene, but didn't stop.

"Th– that's it," Dorian encouraged, feeling sparks shoot up his spine with Fenris' every movement. "Just keep doing that." He let his head fall back against the pillows again, moaning as he let himself get lost in the sensations, the movement, the physicality of it all. It was him, firmly anchored and grounded in his body in a way he hardly ever was, and it was Fenris, on him, in him, moving and connecting in a way that there was no words to describe other than primal.

The rhythm of Fenris' breath became more and more broken, but the rhythm of his hips remained steady, a constant push-pull within Dorian and without. "Perfect," he muttered, without clarifying the subject matter. "So... beautiful."

Dorian was aware that all sorts of whines and moans was coming from his own mouth, but he couldn't help it. Every movement Fenris made seemed to force more out of him in a way that had never happened to him before. He was never this loud, hardly ever made any noise at all, but that control had seemed to have completely abandoned him. Moreover, he didn't even care. And when Fenris thrust into him hard enough to make him let out a wordless yell, hearing the need in his own voice became just one more thing that made him shake and _feel_.

A hand enclosed his cock and started to stroke him in the same rhythm as the thrusts inside him, which were getting slowly but constantly faster, harder. Fenris was grunting now with each push, at least when he wasn't moaning Dorian's name, and Dorian was moving up the bed, inch by inch.

"Tell... me... when you're... close," Fenris managed to say.

With the addition of Fenris' hand on his cock, Dorian was close almost immediately. "N-now," he managed to stutter out, gritting his teeth and trying to hold back what was quickly becoming unstoppable.

With a wordless cry, Fenris thrust hard and at the same time the lyrium marks all over his body sparked to life and light, and it had to include the swirl patterns Dorian had seen on his cock because, oh Maker, he'd never felt anything like it.

He screamed as he came, not a climax so much as an explosion, his entire body tightening and releasing as the whole world went away in a white out of pleasure.

When he was capable of thought again, he became aware Fenris was lying beside him on the bed, his chest still heaving from exertion.

Dorian turned his head towards him, and cleared his throat several times before he was able to speak. "All right?" he asked with a touch of concern. Just because he had had a climax so great it was close to a religious experience didn't mean the same could be said for Fenris, and he frankly couldn't remember how everything had ended.

"Profoundly so." Fenris' voice was practically a purr.

The last little bit of tension his body held drained away at that. "Good," he said, sounding self-satisfied even to himself. He rolled over onto his side, facing Fenris and reached out to rest one of his now – he just noticed – unbound hands on Fenris' stomach, careful to avoid the markings there. "I think we can consider this little experiment an unqualified success then. Not that I would be adverse to further experimentation. Also, you are a damnable tease."

Fenris placed a hand over Dorian's, making a contented noise. "I was prolonging the pleasure," he said, sounding smugly happy. "Now I know how good it feels to be inside you, I'm not sure I'll be so patient again."

"I'm irresistible, I know."

"You are," Fenris agreed easily enough. "I am fortunate."

The simple agreement caught Dorian off guard enough that he took a couple of seconds to find his voice. "What you are is..." He shook his head. "Unique. Deadly. Gorgeous. Surprising. Remarkable."

Fenris turned to look at him, eyebrow raised. "I'll give you unique and deadly," he said and laughed. "Although at the moment, I'm more sleepy and content. May I remain here the night? Is that... acceptable?"

It took Dorian a moment to answer not because he didn't want that, but because no one had ever asked that before. It just wasn't done back in Tevinter. It had always been a given that once the deed was done, you parted ways, no matter what he might have wanted. And Dorian found he wanted Fenris to stay very badly.

"It's more than acceptable," he said in a soft voice, and then stronger as he got his feelings under control, "In fact I insist. We can't sleep together only when we didn't have sex. That would make no sense at all."

That got Fenris laughing again, the movement making this well sprung new bed bounce slightly. "It would certainly confuse people. I'm rather surprised no one tried to barge in at the end there to save your life. This area of the keep is still largely uninhabited, I suppose."

Dorian felt his face heat at that and knew he must be completely red. "I'm not usually that loud! In fact I usually am hardly vocal at all! I'll... try to keep better control next time."

"Don't. We'll just lock the door. I liked the noise, liked being able to do that to you." Fenris rolled onto his side to face Dorian. "I want to do it again, when you're recovered."

"Now?" Dorian's voice came out much higher tone than usual.

"I was imagining in a few days?" Fenris said, sounding bemused.

"A few days. Really? Just how long do you think I need to recover?" He closed the distance between them to kiss Fenris as punctuation to the question, then flopped back down onto his back and closed his eyes. "Several hours should be sufficient. So ask me again in the morning."

"I, uh, well, aren't you sore?"

Dorian opened one eye to look at Fenris. "Not particularly. A slight ache perhaps, but in all the best possible ways."

"Oh." That was followed by a long silence.

"Fenris." He rolled back over onto his side and leaned up on one elbow to better see the elf. "Did you think you hurt me?"

"Not exactly." Fenris was fidgeting uncomfortably. "I just thought... It doesn't matter."

Dorian really didn't like the picture he was putting together. "That's what you felt," he said, keeping his voice as carefully free of emotion as he could make it. "When you were taken."

"It..." Fenris gave him a slightly desperate look. "I– It's hard to admit, but there was... pleasure. But it hurt too, and afterwards, the pleasure was gone, and the pain... remained."

"There shouldn't be pain," Dorian said, moving closer, hands itching to soothe and touch, but not sure if it would be welcome at that moment. "Not like that." He paused. "Was it like that with Hawke...?"

"Not... precisely." Fenris seemed to be trying to look anywhere but at Dorian. "Hawke is... overly large."

"Unless he's hung like a Qunari that's no excuse!" Dorian insisted with a disapproving frown. He and Hawke were going to have words. They were going to be very awkward words, to be sure, but words were going to be had nonetheless.

"It wasn't his fault." Fenris sighed, and it turned into a yawn. "Leave it, Dorian. It doesn't matter. _This_ matters, and I'm glad you're not hurt."

Dorian sighed. "I'm sorry you were." But he made an effort to let his indignation go for now. It was too long past, and he was too pleasantly exhausted to go tracking down Hawke to yell at him for sexual mistakes he made years ago.

He shifted closer to Fenris, until he could feel the heat from his body and feel his breath on his face, then reached out to rest a hand on Fenris' hip. "You have to promise me one thing," he said, softly, intently. "Don't ever let me hurt you. I don't want... I couldn't live with myself if I did."

Fenris opened his mouth to say something, but then seemed to change his mind and let his breath go. He leant forward and kissed Dorian softly before murmuring, "I swear."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which few are as they seem...

The main difference, Varric was finding, between the north and south coasts of the Waking Sea was that the rain was heavier, colder and far more constant in the south. He was drenched and dripping, as was everyone else.

They were here on the Storm Coast to meet a mercenary group whose leader had made contact. Iron Bull was the leader's name, and the fact that he was Tal Vashoth wasn't at all concerning. Oh no.

It had been a strange trip, getting here. Being the uncoupled dwarf travelling with two fiercely attached pairs was... interesting. It wasn't as if they ignored him; they were all far too polite for that. It was more that, without him present, he couldn't help but feel neither pair would speak to the other at all, so lost were they in their respective lovers.

Maybe next time he'd encourage Hawke to change the party around a little.

"So," he started as they walked over a grassy clifftop, "The Inquisition needs mercenaries, does it?"

"You saw the size of the army Corypheus had with him at Haven," Hawke said. "Our templars and mages are all well and good, but if we're to match that, we need more. Preferably people who know not to pick a sword up by the pointy end. So yes, we need mercenaries."

"Let's hope these 'Chargers' are a bit more reliable than the mercenary troops around Kirkwall."

"Most of those were part-time slavers," Fenris put in dourly. "Dead now."

"And most of those that weren't part-time slavers supplemented their income by wandering the streets at night and robbing people," Hawke added, then grinned wolfishly. "Also dead now."

"You know the more I hear about Kirkwall, the more I wonder why anybody would actually choose to live there," Dorian observed. "Did it have anything going for it – aside from our present company?"

"The weather was better," Anders said, "but that's about it."

"It's home," Varric said firmly, "for me, at least."

"Ah," Dorian said. "That's one reason no one can argue with. No matter how horrible a place is, if it is home, you can't help but miss it. Or at least what you wish it could be."

"I'd be there now if certain seekers hadn't got all grabby hands with me," Varric said. "Too much recovery work still needs to be done, especially now with Starkhaven's armies on the move on top of everything else."

"Everything else being me," Anders said edgily.

"Everything else being everything else," Hawke countered, reaching out to squeeze Anders' hand. "Don't take on more guilt than you've earned."

"Looks like we've found our qunari," Fenris said, peering over the cliff edge.

Varric joined him and saw an ongoing battle taking place on the beach, the single qunari obvious amongst them. "I suppose we better get down there."

"Yes," Dorian said, pulling his staff from his back. "And quickly, before they've killed all those venatori and left none for us."

They found a track leading down nearby and trotted down it, all bar Fenris able to join the battle before they even reached the bottom. With their help, it was all over very quickly.

There was a couple of seconds of tension when the last of the venatori went down, and Varric and the others found themselves facing the mercs with weapons still drawn, but it ended quickly when the qunari yelled, "Chargers, stand down!"

It was an order that was obeyed instantly, the mercs lowering their weapons and going into battle clean-up mode. The qunari, Iron Bull, strode over to a figure Varric recognised as the man who'd visited Skyhold with the invitation.

"Krem, how'd we do?" Iron Bull asked, voice still booming and more boisterous than Varric could ever remember hearing from a qunari.

"Five or six wounded, chief," Krem, presumably, replied, his voice also raised. He stood to some sort of attention with his hands behind his back. "No dead."

"That's what I like to hear! Have the throat cutters finish up then break out the casks," Iron Bull ordered, then turned his attention to the Inquisition party, giving them all a sharp once over, before focusing on Hawke. "So you're the one who took down the Arishok, huh? Glad you could make it. Come on, have a seat, drinks are coming."

" _Shanedan, vashoth. Maraas shokra_ ," Fenris said. Varric tensed as who knew how Tal Vashoth react to hearing Qunlat spoken by glowy elves. He guessed they were about to find out.

This Tal Vashoth apparently reacted with a grin. "Fenris, right? Good accent you've got there." He gestured at some nearby rocks and branches. "Come on, all of you, get comfortable. Krem's breaking out the good stuff. Golden Scythe 4:90 Black – you spill it, you kill all the grass."

Hawke shrugged. "Why not?"

Varric parked himself further back, so he could pay attention to the other mercenaries. They seemed a strikingly mixed bunch of individuals, including a dwarf who looked like he was once carta and an elf mage. This immediately made Varric feel less uneasy about Iron Bull, or _The_ Iron Bull as he seemed to prefer. (What sort of person insisted on the definite article before their name?) If the qunari could persuade such a motley to join him then maybe he was more like, say, Hawke, than like the Tal Vashoth gangs that had populated the Wounded Coast.

Krem came over with the drinks, and the Iron Bull introduced him. "I assume you remember Cremisius Aclassi, my lieutenant."

"Good to see you again," Krem said to Hawke, handing him a battered pewter tankard. He had three more in his hands, so Varric missed out, being furthest back. He wasn't at all sure that was a bad thing, but Krem raised his finger in Varric's direction in a 'wait one sec' gesture before turning to the Iron Bull. "Throatcutters are done, chief."

The Iron Bull's eyebrows went up. "Already? Have them check again. I don't want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offence, Krem." He glanced over to where Dorian was sitting in his distinctly Tevinter style robes. "You either."

"None taken, I can assure you," Dorian said, sipping delicately from his battered tankard as if it were a fine goblet of wine. "I've called certain of my countrymen far worse."

"Least a bastard knows who his mother was," Krem said with a slight grin, heading off back to the casks. "Puts him one up on you Qunari, right?"

Anders took a hesitant sip from his drink only to splutter and cough. "Are you sure he didn't open a barrel of Tevinter cleaning fluid instead?"

"It would probably be excellent at eating away bloodstains," Dorian observed thoughtfully, taking another sip.

Fenris seemed to have finished his. He held a hand out to Anders. "Pass it over, mage."

Anders looked like he was contemplating doing so for a second or two, but then shook his head. "It may be dragon's piss, but it's _my_ dragon's piss."

"That's the spirit!" the Iron Bull told him. He drained his own drink in one long guzzle, smacking his lips in satisfaction afterwards. "So, you've seen us fight. We're expensive, but we're worth it." He chuckled. "And I'm sure the Inquisition can afford us."

Hawke took a drink and grimaced. "Just how much _is_ this going to cost me exactly?"

"Wouldn't cost you anything personally. Well, unless you want to buy drinks later. You've got people to take care of that kind of thing, right? Your ambassador, what's her name, Josephine, we'd go through her, get the payments set up. Gold will take care of itself, don't worry about that. All that matters is we're worth it."

"Certainly if confidence is anything to go by," Anders said before risking another sip.

Krem appeared at Varric's side with a tankard for him. "Thanks," Varric said and lifted the mug in a toast to him.

"The Chargers do seem like an excellent company," Hawke admitted. "And I've a pretty good idea of what kind of asset a Tal Vashoth could be in a fight. Mostly from the other side, granted, but..."

"Yeah," the Iron Bull drawled. "About that... There's one other thing. Might be useful. Might piss you off. Actually it's probably going to piss you off. Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?"

"You could say that," Varric said. "In the 'been there, done that, got the useless, big red gem thing' sense."

"There was a... thing," Hawke said, waving his hand vaguely. "Involving an elf named Tallis. And a list of Ben-Hassrath agents. There was a wyvern – actually there were several wyvern and a lot of pretentious Orlesians." He shook his head. "Long story. But yeah, we've heard of them. Qunari spies."

"It's a bit more complicated than that, but yeah, you could probably sum it up as saying they're spies. Or, uh, _we're_ spies." the Iron Bull continued, talking faster after that unexpected admission. "The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about what's been happening – the Breach and now this Corypheus asshole raising armies and flinging ancient magic around... That's the kind of thing that can cause trouble everywhere. I've been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge – you – and send reports on what's happening. But I also get reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais, a lot of them on that list you were talking about. You sign me on, I'll share them with your people."

"Well," Anders said breezily, "there's a whole new aspect to 'secret identity' I never expected. Clearly we did the hiding from the Chantry thing all wrong, Hawke."

"He's got a point," Hawke said. "Why would you just tell us you're a spy?"

The Iron Bull shrugged, "I suppose I could've tried to hide it, but your group is called the Inquisition. You would've sussed me out sooner or later, and you would've been pissed when you did. Figured you probably have enough reasons to have bad feelings about my people, I didn't want to give you any more."

Varric watched as Fenris put his hand around the hilt of his sword, that had been resting on his leg. "For all we know you might be here for revenge," he growled.

The Iron Bull met Fenris' gaze squarely. "You know anything about the Qunari, you know we don't do revenge. Not like that."

"Qunari as a whole, maybe not," Fenris said, staring back, "but the Ben-Hassrath seem to see all such rules as optional."

Before Iron Bull could respond to that, Hawke spoke up. "I'm less worried about revenge and more worried about another attack to try and convert us."

"That's not what this is about," Iron Bull assured him. "With everything that's happening, Corypheus and the Breach, the whole world's in danger. He's got to be stopped. You're trying to stop him. So whatever else I am, I'm on your side." He paused, then added, "Besides, what happened in Kirkwall, that wasn't an actual Qunari invasion. That was the Arishok losing it."

Hawke crossed his arms over his chest and raised a sceptical eyebrow. "So if I hadn't killed him, you saying the Qunari would've said, 'Whoops, our bad' and yanked him and his troops back to Par Vollen? That they would have left Kirkwall?"

"Honestly? I don't know if they would've fully withdrawn if people had already started converting," Iron Bull admitted. "But yeah, he would've been having words with the others in the Triumvirate and probably ended up with the re-educators even if he succeeded. Might not have got your people free, but his overstepping his role would've been dealt with."

"Knowing what we now think we know about Kirkwall," Anders started thoughtfully, "it might not have been entirely his fault."

Hawke made a thoughtful noise at that, then returned his focus to the Iron Bull. "If we do let you join, what would you send home in these reports of yours?"

"Enough to keep my superiors happy. Nothing that will compromise your operations. The Qunari want to know if they have to launch an invasion to stop the whole damn world from falling apart. You let me send word of what you're doing, it'll put some minds at ease, keep them from wanting to take more drastic measures. That's good for everyone."

"Do we get to see these words you're sending?" Varric asked, knowing full well that if the answer was 'yes' then there'd also be some other words no one in the Inquisition saw. Well, apart from Leliana, anyway. Not much escaped her eyes.

Hawke acknowledged that point with a nod. "What if I ask you directly to not put something in your reports? Will you respect that or would that just guarantee it was the opening line in the next one you sent back?"

"Honestly, it depends on what it is. If it's plans to invade Par Vollen or something else that poses an obvious and direct threat to the Qunari, I'd have to send it. If it's something more... personal, I would probably respect your wishes. Not that I have any way of proving I wouldn't just say I won't and send it anyway."

"Fair enough," Hawke said. "You said you're offering to share Ben-Hassrath reports on other things? Like what exactly?"

"Enemy movements, suspicious activity, intriguing gossip, it's a bit of everything. Alone, they're not much," Iron Bull admitted, "but if your spymaster is half as good as her reputation, she'll put them to good use."

Not that it was down to him, but Varric couldn't see the harm in agreeing to this. It wasn't as if the mercs would be permitted into war table meetings to hear anything vital, and having a line of communication to Par Vollen might prove useful in the coming months.

Hawke blew out his breath, then pointed at Iron Bull. "If I agree to this, you will run your reports past Leliana before sending them. You send _nothing_ she doesn't approve. And if this turns out to be a trick, or your reports compromise even one Inquisition soldier's safety, I feed you to Fenris. Clear?"

"I hope I get a week or more to eat this meal," Fenris said dryly, pulling a face. "A week before that to cook it too; he looks tough."

"At least it couldn't be any worse than that mystery stew we had at camp last night," Dorian pointed out.

Iron Bull ignored the side banter and answered Hawke, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Welcome to the Inquisition then," Hawke told him, holding out his hand.

"Excellent," Iron Bull said with a grin, taking the proffered handshake, his own hand completely engulfing Hawke's. He turned his head to yell, "Krem! Tell the men to finish drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired."

"What about the casks, Chief?" Krem yelled back. "We just opened them up – with axes."

"Find some way to seal them up," Iron Bull ordered, getting up and starting to head to join his men. "You're Tevinter, aren't you? Try blood magic." He turned back, addressing his words to Hawke, but taking in all of them. "We'll meet you back at Skyhold."

"So," Anders said as they watched the Chargers trudge off. "Did anyone else see the runed skull on the post on top of that cliff we came down?"

Hawke made a face. "I was really hoping we wouldn't find any of those outside of the Hinterlands. Just how many tranquil did the Venatori kill?"

"They might have made themselves a new supply," Fenris said, sneering. "From slaves."

Hawke's expression got even grimmer at that, all of theirs did.

"You are such a breath of sunshine, aren't you?" Dorian muttered to Fenris, who shrugged.

"They have their pet templars now. It would would be easy enough."

Without a word, Hawke stomped back the way they came, his face like a thundercloud. Varric and the others followed. When the skull came into view, Hawke stopped, raised his staff and rained fire down on the skull until nothing was left of it, the post it was fixed to and the greenery around it except ashes and scorched rock.

Anders stood by him, a hand on his back, until the firestorm was over. Then he drew closer and murmured things to Hawke that Varric couldn't hear.

Varric sighed heavily, watching the rain turn black as it ran over the ashes. "I'd say we should make camp until the rain passes, but I'm not sure it ever does around here," he said to Dorian, who was closest to him.

"What we really need is a group of those red templars or venatori to suddenly appear so certain people could work out some of their justifiable anger," Dorian replied, his eyes on the other members of their group.  

"I'm sure they will, sooner or later."

"In the meantime, camp might not be that bad an idea," Dorian mused in a slightly louder voice so the others could hear him. He looked up at the late afternoon sky. "It'll be getting dark soon and I draw the line at wandering around in the dark and the rain at the same time."

"The scouts probably have the tents up by now," Fenris said.

"Ah, that makes things so much more convenient," Dorian said, casually closing the distance between him and Fenris and laying a hand on his arm. "Camps that set themselves up. We should never travel without them ever again. Or at the very least, never make me set up a tent. It's never pretty when I have to attempt it."

"Just be happy we have tents," Hawke replied, coming out a little of the dark cloud the discussion of the tranquil and the skull had put him in.

"Mmm, cosy," Anders said, still close to Hawke.

"For me, right now?" Varric replied. "Anything out of the rain is cosy enough."

***

Hawke knew he was bad company just now so he made his excuses and headed for his tent as soon as he was able, which still wasn't as soon as he would have preferred. He'd had to touch base with the forces that had set up the camp and talk to Leliana's scouts, making sure they sent a messenger bird back to Skyhold to let them know about the Chargers' imminent arrival and Iron Bull's spy status. Finally, he'd issued orders to both the Inquisition forces here, and back at Skyhold via messenger bird, to track down every one of those tranquil skulls and burn them.

Then, at last, he was able to stalk off to his tent to stew in peace.

Anders, who was sprawled on their bedrolls, didn't say anything as Hawke came in. He just held out his arms, open and accepting. Hawke took the invitation, wrapping himself around Anders and letting Anders wrap himself around him.

"It's not your fault, you know," Anders said softly, stroking Hawke's back. "I know you realise that in your rational mind, but I'm not sure if your heart feels the same."

"I don't know why I thought stopping Alexius was going to stop the Venatori from continuing to torture and kill tranquil," he said, letting himself take what comfort he could from Anders' touch. "Of course it wouldn't. Chances are Fenris is probably right, and they've started making their own tranquil as we've done better at safeguarding the existing ones that remained." He couldn't quite suppress a shudder at that thought. "Like this whole thing wasn't horrific enough as it was."

"Well, hopefully we're stopping them finding whatever it is they're looking for, so there's that," Anders offered before kissing Hawke's forehead softly.

"If I was being strategic about it, the better course of action would be to use the skulls to try and find whatever it is first. I just can't bring myself to do that." Hawke couldn't help but wonder if that would come back to bite him and the Inquisition in the arse.

"You're doing the right thing," Anders said firmly. "Profiting from evil should never be an option for us."

That was certainly something he wanted both himself and the Inquisition to be known for, a hard line they wouldn't cross, no matter what. It helped immensely to hear someone else say it, to know he wasn't alone in wanting to avoid that slippery slope of compromise.

"Thank you," he said, dropping a gentle kiss on Anders' mouth. "You do have a knack of knowing exactly what I need to hear."

Anders kissed him back softly. "You know what?" he said after a few moments. "We should get Roderick to hold a service of remembrance for the Tranquil. They were doubly victims – first of the Chantry's war against mages and then of the bastard Venatori. Acknowledging that could be healing... and eye-opening for some."

"That's not a bad idea." Hawke wondered if maybe something like that couldn't also repair some of the more... frayed connections. "Maybe... that could be something I could approach Mother Giselle to assist with." Anders' presence had noticeably cooled her enthusiasm for Hawke, but she hadn't left the Inquisition or spoken out against any of them. She had been working tirelessly with the wounded and the displaced and was demonstrably a good woman, and Hawke thought it might be worth it to try and reach out.

"I suppose it would be better if an actual 'mother' led the service," Anders said, but the reluctance was strong in his voice. "Chantry bureaucrats leading services would just be seen as further heresy, I suppose." He sighed.

"She's a good woman," Hawke said. "If we can get her to see things our way, get her to see the real you instead of all the stories, we could change her mind."

"The stories _are_ true, love. More or less." He felt Anders shrug. "She leaves the injured area whenever I arrive."

Hawke sighed. "She doesn't know the real you," he repeated. He would dare anyone who saw Anders in his element, working as a healer, not to realise how much the man cared about helping people. Even after all he'd been through and all that had been done to him, that was who he was at the core.

"We might have to wait for her to have a deathbed conversion like the Chancellor then," Anders said dryly. "It doesn't matter. The idea about the remembrance is still a good one."

"It is." Just the idea of a remembrance made Hawke feel better; when they actually had one it was going to help immensely in a lot of ways, whether he was able to bring Mother Giselle around or not. "I'll see about what we have to do to arrange it when we get back to Skyhold. Which would be after we check out these rumours of a warden wandering the Hinterlands."

"Despite all the others that aren't me or Carver supposedly disappearing." Anders sighed quietly. "I suspect they're trying to escape the noise from Corypheus. I can't be the only one hearing it."

"All the more reason to find him then," Hawke said. He watched Anders for a moment quietly. Anders hadn't mentioned hearing Corypheus since just after Haven, but Hawke wasn't naive enough to believe that meant it wasn't still happening. "How bad is it?"

"Justice has it under control." Anders paused and then added, "I hope Carver and his group got far enough away... and that Felix reached them in time."

Oh yay. A reminder of something else he had to worry about. Hawke bit his tongue on the sarcasm, knowing it was just a way of covering what he was really feeling, and if there was anybody he didn't need to cover with it was Anders. "This is one of those times I wish my brother seemed capable of writing more than once every year or so. I'd take a letter that was nothing but insults at this point."

"Maybe one is on the way," Anders suggested. "He surely will have something to say about all the news you sent with Felix."

That pulled a reluctant smile from Hawke. "And not much of it fit for genteel company."

"And that was before you became Inquisitor!" Anders chuckled evilly.

"Maker, he's going to hate that," Hawke said, shaking his head ruefully.

"A huge fortress at your disposal, mages and templars at your beck and call..."

"Giant magister darkspawn from the dawn of time and his pet archdemon out for my blood..."

"Ah yes, just yours this time. Last time Carver's was just as good." Anders laughed again. "You know, he'll still find a way to make that a slight against him."

"Probably," Hawke said fondly. He probably shouldn't actually find Carver's sourness and jealousy endearing and when they were younger he hadn't, but now... At least it was familiar. And it probably helped that he could see what lay beyond that now when he hadn't always been able to when they were kids. "I miss him," he said, honestly meaning it. "No one enjoys taking the wind out of my sails more than Carver."

"Scared you're going to get too big for your holy inquisitorial boots?" Anders asked in between little kisses to Hawke's face.

"I don't want to start believing my own hype," Hawke admitted. "This isn't one of Varric's stories."

"Oh, it will be," Anders said, smiling against Hawke's skin. "Just give him time."

Hawke groaned and buried his face against Anders' shoulder. "You're probably right."

"I'm always right," Anders claimed. "Except for those times when I'm not, but let's ignore those for now."

That pulled a chuckle out of Hawke. "I may steal that line the next time I end up arguing with Cullen over something at the war table."

"He seems relatively civil with me, especially compared to Mother Giselle," Anders said thoughtfully. "Unexpected, really."

"He's changed from what he was like in Kirkwall," Hawke agreed, but then hadn't they all? "Not that he was all that bad there as templars go. But... he seems more open minded about certain things than he used to be."

"Including apostates that blow up chantries, it seems." Anders fidgeted a little in Hawke's arms. "Maybe he's just a pragmatist; he realises he has to tolerate me if he's to have the Inquisitor the world needs."

"Or maybe he knows what Kirkwall was like at the end there and can put what happened into a perspective that those that weren't there can't," Hawke pointed out. "Or he has his own guilt and regrets over that day – he turned against Meredith at the end, yes, but that was hours after her declaring the rite of annulment. A lot of mages got killed that maybe wouldn't have if he'd had his crisis of conscience earlier."

Anders shivered and moved closer still to Hawke. "Stupid bastards. Why did they all choose blood magic, one after another, like dominoes falling? Kirkwall again, I suppose. You'll note that there was markedly little of that in the war further afield."

"Thank the Maker for that. Not that there wasn't enough violence on both sides and atrocities like what happened at Dairsmuid, but there wasn't any plague of mages turning to blood magic when fighting for their freedom or when backed into corners." That had been one of Hawke's greatest fears when the rebellion really started gaining momentum – that the same thing that had happened in Kirkwall would happen everywhere and it would all end up just being more 'proof' that mages couldn't be allowed to make their own decisions. That he was surprised when it didn't happen that way was what made him realize that even his perspective had been warped and changed by whatever it was in Kirkwall that seemed intent on tainting everything.

"If and when Corypheus is dealt with, the Inquisition should... do something inquisitiony about Kirkwall. Send a battalion of enlightened Seekers to find out the truth once and for all."

Hawke laughed tiredly. "If I send a battalion of anything to Kirkwall, it's going to feel like I'm starting an exalted march on the place. I'd like to avoid declaring exalted marches."

"If nothing's done about Kirkwall, then bad things will just keep happening there... unless it really was Corypheus causing it all, I guess. Put Varric in charge. He's open-minded enough and knows the place better than anyone." Anders inhaled deeply and let the breath out slowly. "Why am I even talking about the bloody place? I know better than that."

"You're not wrong though," Hawke pointed out. "And giving Varric the resources and authority to see what can be done about Kirkwall isn't a bad idea." He turned it over in his head, looking at it from different angles. "Maybe I can get him made Viscount. Though he'd probably kill me. He likes it a lot better when I'm the one getting handed all the titles and authority."

Anders laughed loudly enough to be heard outside the tent. When he spoke it was a lot quieter. "Oh, tell me you're going to do that! It would be brilliant, and for more than one reason. Good reasons, too, not just how funny it would be. Though it would be hilarious."

"I'm not sure I have the authority to actually do that. This whole Inquisitor gig has a really vague job description, aside from 'save the world'. But–" Hawke felt his own mouth quirk up into a smile "–it would be hilarious. Just to see his face when I told him."

Anders was still chuckling quietly. "I can just imagine it. He'd have to have a proper dwarfy crown made, of course, not that slender thing Dumar wore. Oh, and imagine Bran's reaction!"

"Or Aveline's." Hawke was now laughing outright. "That would make Varric the boss of her!"

"Ha!" Anders moved his hands up to hold Hawke's face and kiss him thoroughly. "This needs to happen, love. On so many levels. Something to look forward to during the battles ahead, I feel."

Hawke sighed, still smiling, feeling lighter than he had in a while. He kissed Anders again. "Thank you," he told him. "For getting me out of my head."

"It's what I'm here for," Anders replied, wriggling against him. "And now that I've started the process, how do you fancy a more hands on approach to getting you the rest of the way out?"

Hawke's grin turned wicked, and he pulled Anders even tighter against him. "I thought you'd never ask."

***

"Come _on_ , mage," Fenris said crossly.

Anders tried to ignore him with little success. "If you had any idea how useful blood lotus is, you'd be helping me pick them instead of nagging me. This warden's nowhere near here anyway. I'd be able to sense him if he was."

"Warden or not, there's something going on over there," Dorian said, nodding in the direction of a hut connected to where they were by a series of wooden docks over the river. When Anders looked up from carefully storing the blood lotus, he could make out a number of people by a cabin.

"If it's not this Warden Blackwall, maybe it's the bandits we heard were in the area?" Hawke suggested. "Either way, I think we need to have a chat with them."

Repressing a sigh, Anders splashed out of the water to Hawke's side. "Can we at least come back here later? Or send some scouts to gather here?"

Hawke gave him a warm indulgent smile. "We can do that. Have to keep our healers well stocked, after all."

"Exactly," Anders said, glad that Hawke at least understood. He shot a 'so there' glance at Fenris, but the elf missed it, being too busy exchanging meaningless nothings with Dorian.

They traipsed over a wooden jetty construction to get to the cabin. Closer to, Anders could see that the people outside were a black-bearded warrior and several poorly equipped young lads, who seemed to be being drilled by the older warrior.

"...remember how to carry your shields," he was saying as they got close enough to hear. "You're not hiding; you're holding. Otherwise it's useless."

"Less banditry and more fighting lessons it appears," Dorian observed. "One would expect the bandits would already know the basics."

Hawke moved closer and cleared his throat to get their attention. "Excuse me, you wouldn't by any chance have seen Warden Blackwall recently, have you?"

The warrior spun around and strode straight to Hawke, causing Fenris to ready his sword. "You're not–" the man started. Then he interrupted himself to ask, "How do you know my name?"

"Huh," Anders said. "Interesting."

"Who sent y–?" the warrior continued, but again interrupted himself to this time raise his shield. An arrow thunked into it.

Following the arrow's path back to its source, Anders saw a group of men starting to charge in their direction. They were almost certainly the expected bandits.

"That's it," 'Warden' Blackwall said to Hawke. "Help or get out. We're dealing with these idiots first." He waved his sword about directing the lads he'd been drilling. "Conscripts, here they come!" he yelled and charged at the chargers.

"If it's not one thing, it's another," Hawke sighed, even as he grabbed the Key off his back and started after Blackwall, channelling chain lightning through the closest of the bandits.

The others followed his lead and the fight was over quickly. "Now," Hawke said, not even winded. "Where were we before we were so rudely interrupted? I was asking you about Warden Blackwall and you were implying that you were he."

"Wait," Blackwall told him and turned to his conscripts. "Good work. Even if this shouldn't have happened. They could've– Well, thieves are made, not born." He pointed at the corpses. "Take back what they stole; go back to your families. You saved yourselves."

As they obeyed, Blackwall turned back to Hawke. "You're no farmer. Why d'you know my name?"

"So your name is 'Warden'?" Anders asked, trying to work out why he could sense nothing from the man.

"No, it's... what I am. My rank." Blackwall frowned heavily at him. "Who are you?"

Anders ignored the question. "So... you say you're a grey warden?"

"I don't 'say' it; I am it. Are you lot going to identify yourselves or not?"

"Garrett Hawke, Inquisitor," Hawke introduced himself, then pointed at each of his companions as he named them. "Varric Tethras, Fenris, Dorian Pavus, Anders." He paused. "Anders was a grey warden. Though if you really are a warden, you'd already know that."

"Inquisition. I've heard of you," Blackwall said dourly. "There are a lot of wardens in Thedas, Inquisition. A bit daft to assume we all know each other."

"Now, see," Anders began, "if you _were_ a warden, you'd know that isn't what Hawke meant. Whoever you are, you're no warden. You've never lived through the joining."

"The joining." Blackwall repeated, looking between Anders and Hawke, his posture becoming defensive. "There's more than one way to join any army. What's it to you anyway, what I am?"

"An army, yes. The Wardens, not so much." Hawke crossed his arms over his chest and somehow managed to look like he was looking down at Blackwall though they were roughly the same height. "I'm not an expert, but my brother's a warden, and like I said, Anders is as well. I know enough. I know for instance that they can sense darkspawn when they're near."

"There's no darkspawn 'round here," Blackwall immediately claimed, but Anders noticed the quick and sneaky look around he tried to hide with a cough.

Fenris sighed. "So the man's only a pretend warden. That means he can't help us. No need to waste anymore time on him."

Hawke glanced at Anders, "Correct me if I get this wrong, love," he said, before turning his full attention back to Blackwall. "It's because of the joining ritual that all wardens go through that every warden has just a bit of the blight taint that darkspawn have. That's why they can sense darkspawn, _and_ why they can sense each other just as easily." His voice went from conversational to something a lot colder. "So when Anders says you're not a warden, he isn't guessing. He can sense it. Or can't sense it, more accurately. Either way, you're a fraud."

Blackwall stared at Hawke for a few long seconds, his expression becoming bleaker, almost despairing. He looked down. "I was meant to be a warden. My recruiter was killed by darkspawn as we travelled. He'd sent me into the deep roads to get some darkspawn blood. For this joining, I suppose. He was ambushed."

Now that, for the first time, sounded like truth being spoken. "So you... took his armour?" Anders asked.

"Aye, and his name. To stop the world from losing a good man."

Fenris snorted rudely, and for once Anders was tempted to agree with the sentiment. "A man is more than the sum of his name and clothing," Fenris said, his sneer obvious in his voice.

"Was it really to stop the world from losing a good man?" Dorian asked, speaking for the first time. "Or was it that you were trying to leave a bad man behind?"

That made Blackwall, or whatever his real name was, look up, frowning sharply at Dorian. "Is that perceptiveness or prejudice?" he asked.

"Logic," Dorian shot back. "Taking on another's identity so 'the world doesn't lose a good man' would only work if you didn't think of yourself as a good man already. Whether that's objectively true or not..." He shrugged elegantly. "Well that's rather hard to judge when we don't know who you are. Or were."

"No one good." Blackwall met Dorian's gaze. "You're right about that at least." He turned his stare on Anders. "You. If you're a warden, you know the sort of folk that end up as recruits. I should have been the one who died, but I wasn't, so I tried to... balance the books. So the world lost a bad man that day and kept a good one. I've tried to live up to the name I took everyday since."

"Like helping those lads defend their families," Varric said quietly. He'd been unusually quiet up until now.

"Yes, that was well done," Hawke said, looking at Blackwall speculatively. "They say a warden's past is forgiven and forgotten when they're recruited. If all you say is true, you _were_ recruited. Whether or not you've undergone the joining shouldn't change the fact your mentor thought you worthy of that amnesty. And from what I've seen and what information was provided by my spymaster, it sounds to me like you haven't wasted the second chance."

Anders wasn't so sure, not yet. He was the last person to deny anyone a second chance, Maker knew. It was just... "Why didn't you just continue on to... wherever it was your joining was meant to take place?"

Blackwall's expression was simply weary now. "I had no way to prove anything that had happened: that I'd been recruited, that I hadn't killed the original Blackwall myself. I was a– a wanted man; why would they believe me?"

"Some would have given you the benefit of the doubt," Anders said, considering it, "let the joining chalice decide your worth. Others? No, you were probably right. Too many wardens are arseholes."

Blackwall had the gall to look outraged at that. "That's not... Wardens are heroes!"

"Some of them," Hawke allowed, giving Anders a fond glance. "But he's right; there's a fair number of arseholes among the ranks too." He gave Blackwall that speculative look again. "So which are you – hero or arsehole?"

"The man whose name I took was a hero. There can be no doubting that. I've done my best to do justice to the name ever since. Small things, like training those boys. Bigger things too when the opportunity arose." Blackwall looked around at his accusers. "If you'll let me, I'd like to carry on with it. Too many innocent victims in this war. They need someone to look out for them."

"The mage/templar war's over bar the stragglers," Varric told him. "Thanks to Hawke here. Now the war is, well, everybody sane against the ancient magister darkspawn who's behind the giant hole in the sky. Which side do you want to be on?"

"Ancient magister darkspawn?" Blackwall echoed, staring up at the Breach. "Warden or not, I want darkspawn dead."

"Making him dead so that he stays dead is the goal," Hawke said. "We're still working out the details of how, but I'm not going to stop until we succeed."

Blackwall met Hawke's gaze, stepping forward. "And will you have me? In your... Inquisition? I'm a skilled warrior, if nothing else."

"And not a bad teacher if what we just saw was any indication," Hawke observed. "I believe in second chances and being allowed to make up for past mistakes." He held out a hand to Blackwall. "Welcome to the Inquisition."

Blackwall shook his hand decisively, "Thank you. I... I won't let you down."

"All that remains is the question of what to call you?" Anders said after a quick smile at Hawke.

"Blackwall, if you please," was the answer. "Whoever I was before, I'm not that person now."

"Blackwall, it is," Hawke agreed.

***

"So we've gained a Tal Vashoth and a grey warden, and neither are anything of the sort," Fenris said to Dorian as they followed the others through the Frostback foothills. "What's next, I wonder – a templar who's really a mage?"

Dorian snorted in humour. "Add in the boy who's really a spirit, and there does seem to be a trend developing. I suppose even I could fit into the pattern, given my complete failure to live up to the evil Tevinter magister stereotype."

"I guess we're all a little unique," Fenris said with a snort of amusement. "I think Hawke collects us."

"I had a great aunt on my mother's side who collected little pottery statues of cats. Hundreds of them. She kept them all on shelves in her sitting room." Dorian gave a theatrical shudder. "It was absolutely dreadful. I always felt like their eyes were following me."

"The abomination likes cats," was all Fenris said to that, but inside he was imagining Anders and Hawke retired in some cottage somewhere, one much nicer than the hut in the Kocari Wikds where they'd been hiding from the Templars. In this cottage they were surrounded by pottery cats that were no doubt constantly being broken by the herd of mabari they also had by then. He sniggered.

" _I_ like cats. These though were monstrosities – every one of them was obviously the result of someone trying too hard to be sickeningly cute. Also, the majority of them were in various shades of pink." Dorian shuddered again. "Actual cats are fine. They're sleek, elegant, have minds of their own and don't tend to drool all over you like those mabari they favour down here."

"Were they... magic?" Fenris asked, trying to understand what could be monstrous about a small clay animal. "Possessed?"

"No. Just very, very pink. With large eyes and overly precious expressions. Frankly, I doubt any spirit or demon with half an ounce of self respect would even contemplate possessing them."

"I don't think they're that fussy," Fenris replied casting a wry glance in Anders direction.

"Depends on the spirit or demon, I guess," Dorian said with a shrug. He paused. "Are you insulting him hoping he'll overhear you? Because I can talk louder if that's the case."

"If I wish to insult him, I say it to his face as you must have noticed by now."

"I have indeed noticed that. I have also noticed that you don't seem to be particularly.... heated about it." He gave Fenris a half smirk. "I did have a few first hand experiences of you really meaning an insult, after all, as a comparison."

Fenris winced at that. "My apologies. Again."

Dorian waved the apology away with a hand. "Considering how much of a clueless, offensive arse I was being at the time I deserved it. And frankly there are other first hand experiences with you that come to mind more readily than that anyway."

"I'm glad to hear it," Fenris said, sending a smile Dorian's way. "I for one am looking forward to the privacy of our rooms tonight."

"You are not the only one. Also, I'm looking forward to being able to sleep and... not sleep in an actual bed. I may, sadly, be getting used to sleeping in tents, but I doubt I will ever come to like it." He paused and glanced a look Fenris' way. "Though I will admit to it being more enjoyable this trip, thanks to the company."

"We are finally doing those things in our tent that the others have suspected us of all along." There was something strangely pleasing about that. "Still, it will be better being able to bind your hands again, easier for you."

He saw Dorian swallow hard and a slight shiver go through him, but only because he was watching for it. "That... Yes." He cleared his throat before continuing. "I would like that. And not just because it's difficult sometimes to not touch you."

After a few moments enjoying the warmth that filled him after seeing Dorian's reaction, Fenris said, "About that, about... touching me." He swallowed.

"We don't have to do that," Dorian said, immediately reassuring. "What we have now is... well. Calling it adequate would be damning with faint praise. Astounding, amazing, and similar words would be better descriptions." He paused, eyes searching Fenris' expression for a minute and then added, more tentatively, "I would not be averse to... experimentation, though, but only if you wanted."

"I do. I have found that, when I touch you with parts of my skin that are marked, it's a lot less... overwhelming than when you touch me. So I wondered if I could... guide your hand?"

"Yes," was Dorian's answer, emphatic and sure. "That sounds... yes. We can do that."

Fenris couldn't help the heated look he now gave Dorian. Just the thought of being touched by him... He closed his eyes briefly and then looked away. "Perhaps we should talk about pottery cats again," he said with a voice he knew was deeper than the last time he spoke.

Dorian chuckled at that. "Maker, have I discovered an actual use for those monstrosities? Although pottery cats as libido dampeners might explain why my great aunt was always so cranky. Horrible woman."

Fenris heaved a sigh as he carried on walking. "I think you need to tell me all about them."

***

Crossing the bridge into Skyhold made Dorian happy for many reasons. Firstly, it meant an end, for the moment, to all the wandering the countryside, through cold and wet and all other sorts of weather, none of which he particularly enjoyed.

Secondly, it meant a real bed tonight, in a room with stone walls and a door that locked. Which, when a certain white-haired elf was factored in, meant that Dorian was probably going to be getting very little sleep tonight and would be very very happy about that.

Thirdly, and far more surprisingly, it meant he got to walk into the courtyard and spot amongst the welcoming throng his best friend, dressed in unfamiliar blue and silver armour and looking far more hale than Dorian had seen him in years.

"Dorian," Felix said with a warm smile, striding over to greet him.

Dorian closed the remaining distance between them quickly and threw his arms about Felix in an uncustomary public show of affection. He didn't think anyone would blame him, but he didn't care if they did, not when he hadn't been positive he'd ever even see Felix again, much less see him looking like his old self.

He felt Felix laugh and pat Dorian's back. "It's good to see you too."

"Uh-oh," came Varric's voice from nearby, "I spy trouble."

The comment made Dorian pull his attention away from Felix enough to look around to see what Varric meant. A tall young man dressed in armour similar to what Felix was wearing, but much heavier in design, was approaching Hawke. He had short dark hair and blue eyes, handsome even with his face screwed up into an epic scowl.

Hawke's expression wasn't quite as openly bad-tempered, but he did give a world weary sigh. "Why did I even allow myself to think for one minute that you'd do as I asked just this once?"

"Strangely enough, brother, there are more important considerations in my life than obeying your commands," the warden said. "Right now, I'm not even obeying orders from those who do have the right to give them."

Felix pulled back, saying, "This is Senior Warden Carver Hawke, Dorian, my commanding officer, and ah, yes, the Inquisitor's brother. He has important news."

"I'm not going to like this news, am I?" Hawke said, glancing over at Felix before turning his attention back to his brother who, Dorian noted now that Felix had pointed it out, did share a family resemblance.

"Not really." Carver looked around the courtyard. "Is there somewhere in this palace that you seem to have won yourself – because of course you have – that we can go to talk?"

"That bad, is it?" Hawke sighed again and shook his head. "Come on. My quarters should be private enough."

Felix remained behind as the Hawke brothers and Anders walked off together. Dorian felt a grip on his shoulder and turned to see Fenris.

"I'm going to the tavern with Varric," Fenris said with one of his slight smiles. "Take whatever time you need with Felix."

Dorian nodded his gratitude, returning his smile with one of his own. "I'll come find you later, and we can... continue our conversation from the road. With far less talk of pottery cats."

That produced a bark of laughter from Fenris and a perplexed but curious glance from Varric nearby. "You know where I'll be," Fenris said and headed off with the dwarf.

Dorian watched them go, unable to wipe the fond smile from his face as he did so. Maker, he used to be so much better at hiding his feelings, but there was something about Fenris that seemed to rob him of all his masks. Not that they had ever worked very well with his present company, he thought ruefully as he turned back to Felix to find his friend eyeing him speculatively.

"It looks as if we both have news to share," Felix said with a broad smile. "But you've only just arrived back from your journey. Do you want to eat or freshen up?"

"Not as much as I want to talk to you," Dorian replied honestly. "Luckily, we can at least do the former at the same time. Come," he said, throwing a companionable arm around Felix's shoulders. "We'll steal some treats from the kitchen like we used to back home, and I'll show you one of the many secrets this fortress holds. It'll be nice to share it with someone who will truly appreciate it."

"I'm intrigued," Felix said as they headed towards the kitchen. "However did Hawke find this place, anyway?"

"From what I understand, he got directions from Solas. How Solas knew it was here, that I don't know."

"Did, uh, did Father get taken with you? I hadn't wanted to ask when I first got here, but..."

Dorian turned a horrified look on Felix. " _Kaffas_ , have you been thinking that your father was..." He shook his head emphatically. "No. They made sure as many people as was possible got out of Haven, including prisoners. Alexius is alive and safe, Felix. I promise. He's been put down in one of the cells that wasn't completely covered in rubble." He paused. "We can go see him now if you want...?"

Felix closed his eyes briefly. "Later maybe. I'm not sure how he'll react to seeing me alive and well, saved by the very people he was made to fight against."

"You might not be sure, but I am," Dorian said. Aleixus had been his mentor. It meant that he had been privy to Alexius' reaction to Felix's illness, and his subsequent frantic scrambling to find a way to save him, far more than Felix himself had been. "All he's wanted is for you to live, Felix. He'll be relieved. There'll be hugs if he's allowed, tears most definitely, and..." Dorian paused, his voice growing softer. "There'll be remorse, regrets, but hopefully the kind that can lead him back from that precipice he's thrown himself at in his desperation."

"It's the regrets that scare me," Felix confided briefly. "He's shown the extremes he's prepared to go to when sufficiently motivated... but I _will_ find the cells and visit him later. Have you been down there much?"

"No," Dorian admitted, not liking himself much for that. "Once, after we arrived here. To check he was all right. He... didn't want to see me. I think he can't bring himself to believe you actually left to get help, and he blames me for your leaving." There had been yelling just as there had been when they'd parted ways back in Minrathous. But at least this time Dorian had seen it for what it was – a cover for the fear he held for Felix – and hadn't reacted in kind.

"Then he needs to see me," Felix said more firmly. "Once we've eaten and caught up, I'll go tonight."

They were in the kitchens now, the cooks looking on more or less tolerantly as they rifled the stores. It didn't take long to collect enough for an impromptu and rather eccentric feast.

Once loaded down, Dorian led the way out of the kitchens into that huge open space beyond that had once been a formal dining room of some sort. It was still dim and dusty, but enough torches had been set in the walls and lit to make it easy to see their way. "Do you want me to come with you when you go?" Dorian asked.

"Yes," Felix admitted immediately, "but all the same, I will go on my own. It's the inevitable guilty conscience making me so unwilling, I think. I mean... he did all those terrible things for me, sacrificing all he once held ethically right, and I reward him by betraying him, leaving him rotting in a dungeon..." Felix's voice cracked, and he stopped talking.

"Felix." Dorian stopped walking and turned to his friend. "I saw what could've become of him if we hadn't stopped him." _And of you_ , he thought but didn't say. That sight would haunt his dreams for many years to come. "Trust me when I say that being held in a slightly damp but fairly humane prison cell is by far the better outcome. And you... out of all of us, you are the one who has done the least wrong. Don't take on guilt that isn't yours, _amicus_."

Felix managed a weak but obviously grateful smile and clasped Dorian's upper arm briefly, before moving on. "Now what was this secret you thought I'd appreciate?"

Dorian went with the change of subject easily, leading Felix to the door halfway down the left wall. He threw it open theatrically and bade Felix to proceed him. "You are lucky in that you are getting to see this after I've had time to make some cleaning efforts in here. You would not believe the amount of dust and cobwebs festooning everything when Fenris first showed me this place."

"Ah yes, Fenris," Felix started, but didn't continue as he started to really look at where he was. "Maker..."

And there, finally, was a response to match his own, Dorian thought gleefully, watching Felix look around the library with wide eyes. "I haven't had a chance to check every book," he said, "but so far I haven't found a single one that wasn't written at least several centuries ago. Most of them are even older than that."

Felix made a noise half laugh, half gasp and started trailing his fingers over the spines of the books, reading the titles. "Is that– Oh!" he exclaimed, pulling out a thick volume bound in green. "I've read of this all my life, but never seen a copy!"

"So far I've found at least a dozen tomes that I'd thought were mythical," Dorian said gleefully, happy to finally have someone who understood just exactly what that meant. He pulled a particular book, bound in blue leather off a shelf, smiling fondly as he remembered the noise he'd made when he'd found it and the way Fenris had stared at him when he'd made it. It had been, even he had to admit, rather close to the noises the elf pulled out of him in bed.

Now he handed the book to Felix. "Like this one."

" _Kaffas_ ," Felix whispered, sounding awestruck. He held his free hand out blindly. "I, uh, I need to sit down." Even though Felix had never been the greatest of mages, he was too much the scion of a magisterial house not to appreciate the value of these books, and too much the keen student not to want to devour every one of them.

Dorian shoved the single chair closer to Felix and guided him into it. It wasn't an unfamiliar action, although this was a far better reason for his friend to be overwhelmed than what he had grown used to.

"I knew you'd understand," he said, giving Felix another fond smile. Maker, that seemed the only expression he was capable of when looking at him now. "Nobody else who knows about this place really grasps how miraculous it is."

"The whole fortress is miraculous. This library... beggars belief! It was just here, waiting to be found?"

"So it seems. Like something out of a children's tale, the kind where the dashing heroic mage battles forces of evil beyond the ken of mortals and is rewarded with miracles." Dorian paused, replaying his words. " _Kaffas_ , that's what we're living, aren't we?"

"It's becoming harder not to believe," Felix admitted. "I thought spending time with Carver might help bring my opinion of his brother back down to earth. It looked that way to start with, but after a while I realised his constant, bad tempered disparagement of Hawke just covered up some good old younger brother hero worship."

"He did seem rather... surly," Dorian said carefully. Not that he cared how disagreeable Hawke the younger's personality was. The fact he was the reason that Dorian was able to sit here and have this conversation with his best friend meant that there was hardly anything that the man could ask Dorian for that he wouldn't be happy to give.

"He's good company when he can avoid the topic of his brother. Unfortunately Hawke the Inquisitor is the number one subject on anyone's lips in Ferelden, Orlais, and probably beyond." Felix carefully opened the book he'd been cradling. "Is it complete?" he asked, voice dropping back to an awed whisper.

"Yes," Dorian told him. "No pages missing, and none of the books I've checked so far have been censored."

Felix was quiet for a little while, turning pages with extreme care as he read by the flickering candlelight. It gave Dorian a chance to nibble on the food they'd brought with them. Then, without looking up, Felix said, "So tell me about Fenris."

Dorian had been expecting that question since the courtyard, and part of him wanted to talk to Felix about Fenris and whatever this was that they were forging between them. But he couldn't bring himself to just bare his soul quite that easily, even to Felix. "He got over his irrational hatred of me," he said as breezily as he could manage.

"I noticed." Felix looked up. "I... think I noticed more than that. Didn't I?"

"I could never get anything past you," Dorian said with a sigh that sounded a lot more put upon than he actually felt. "You did. Fenris and I... we're friends." That much he was sure of. "And... something." He gave a half smirk as he shook his head. "A whole lot of something, actually. I'm... just not entirely sure what that something is."

"What would you like it to be?" Felix asked, tipping his head slightly.

That was the question, wasn't it? Hopes and desires that Dorian had buried deep because he knew they were things he could never have stirred to life and whispered in his ear when he thought of Fenris, but he ruthlessly pushed them down. Not that he was as certain of their impossibility as he used to be, but making this about them seemed wrong somehow. Selfish. He didn't want to be selfish with Fenris. Too many others had been, especially of his kind.

And that thought right there gave him the answer to Felix's question. He met Felix's gave squarely and said, "I want it to be something that makes Fenris happy."

That made Felix smile, albeit a little wistfully. "The most important thing being your friend's happiness? You know what that sounds like, don't you?"

"Don't start," he ordered, raising a finger in warning. "Resemblances aside, we are not actually living in a children's story. Besides it is far too early to be thinking of such things. And even if it were true – and I'm not confirming it is, mind you – what good would admitting it do? I would feel however I feel regardless of if I put a word to it or not. And so will he." And if he never voiced that word, even to himself, it would never come up between them and Fenris would never have to tell him he didn't feel the same.

"And how does he feel?" Felix asked, frowning now.

Dorian opened his mouth to answer and found he didn't have the words. He couldn't bring himself to deflect or make light like he usually did, and to answer the question seriously was beyond him. He was too terrified that what he wanted the answer to be would be a lie if he said it.

Maker, how had he fallen so deep so fast?

"Dorian?" Felix put the book down and stood up, walking the few steps necessary to place his hands on Dorian's upper arms. "What is it? What's happened?"

"I can't," he said, staring at Felix wide eyed. "It's too fast, too much to presume too quickly." But despite his protest he knew he had.

Somewhere along the line he'd fallen in love with Fenris. That wasn't the shocking part, he knew he had, even if he had refused to put a word to it, like that would make it less real than it was.

But more than that, he wanted Fenris to love him back. And that was the part that was terrifying him.

Loving someone didn't break your heart; if you could manage to do that and that alone, without expecting reciprocation you were safe. The control was still all yours.

But the second you were selfish and wanted something for yourself, that's the second you handed them the ability to shatter you into a thousand jagged pieces.

Felix squeezed gently with his hands, comforting movements. "This is what our messed up family system does to us, isn't it? Everything is so contrived and masked that when we finally meet the real thing, we've no idea how to handle it."

Dorian let his head fall forward, his forehead resting against Felix's shoulder, drawing comfort from his presence. "Is this the real thing?" he asked, the note of hysteria in his voice, clear to his own ears. "I wouldn't know. I'm not supposed to be capable of it."

"Of course you're capable of it. A heart as large as yours?" Felix shook his head, Dorian feeling the movement. "If you weren't capable of love, if you didn't desperately _want_ love, you wouldn't have fought against what your father demanded of you, but just done what so many others who preferred their own sex in bed have done."

"That's the problem. I _want_ so much and I can't ask that of him."

"Why not? You're worth it," Felix said staunchly. "Is he... playing with you?"

Dorian raised his head to look at Felix. "No," he quickly denied. "Fenris isn't like that."

"But he doesn't want what you want?" Felix shook his head again. "No, you don't know, because you feel you can't ask him." He sighed quietly. "Maybe you just need longer to become confident enough of each other. His own background can't have lent itself to easy trust."

Dorian let out a harsh bark of humourless laughter. "That would be putting it mildly. That man has been through the Void and back."

"And yet he chooses to share time with you. That was genuine regard I saw in his eyes earlier. Dorian, to have made such an impression on him despite who you are and where you come from, that means something."

"It does," he said hoarsely. That Fenris would even be friends with him, much less anything else, Dorian knew how much that meant. "But Felix, that's why I can't ask for more. I refuse to be another Tevinter mage demanding things from him. Which was easier when I was able to ignore how much I wanted more..."

"Maybe," Felix said quietly, "instead of demanding more – which I can't actually imagine you ever doing, my friend – you should be letting him know that there's more he can take if he wants to. His choice."

"That's... that's what I've been doing," he said, feeling suddenly steadier. Was he actually doing this the right way?

"Well, good then!" Felix pushed Dorian gently back, still holding his shoulders, and smiled at him. "You can't have been... more than friends for that long. Give things – and him – some time and maybe you'll get that 'more' you want without ever having to ask."

Even though he felt like he shouldn't, Dorian couldn't help but hope at that, and he found himself nodding in reply. "I can do that. I've been doing that," he said, his words starting to have a bit of his usual confidence again.  

"Good. Now sit down and eat while I go and steal another chair from the room we passed through. Then you can tell me all the Inquisition news, and I can regale you with fun warden tales about darkspawn blood and faux callings."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which there are contemplations, illuminations and declarations..._

Hawke led the way to his quarters, bracing himself for Carver's reaction when they entered the sprawling rooms.

As Carver reached the top of the stairs, his eyes widened as he saw the huge bed, the balconies and more. "Blood of the Maker, brother. I suppose you'll be king of somewhere next."

"I hope not, I'd look terrible in a crown," Hawke replied deadpan.

"I wouldn't say that," Anders said with a smile. "Depends on the crown." He sauntered over to the bed and threw himself onto it. "Ah, home sweet home."

Carver glowered at him, but then turned the look on Hawke instead. "Well, as you could see, your latest waif and stray survived the Joining."

"I knew you'd take care of him," Hawke told him. Despite Carver's bad attitude in regards to anything having to do with him, Carver was always first and foremost a protector. Hawke knew that there was an element of chance involved in whether someone survived the Joining, but he still hadn't had any doubts somehow that Felix would make it if his brother was involved. Unrealistic as that was.

"I had my doubts at first, but they didn't last long. He'll make an excellent warden... _if_ the wardens still even exist as such now." Carver walked over to Hawke's desk and leant back against it. "For all I know, they could all be dead."

That got Hawke's attention. He glanced over at Anders before turning back to Carver. "Tell me."

"Well... Before Felix arrived, Stroud and I were already on our own. The other Free Marches Wardens had given up 'acting strangely' in favour of 'acting like complete idiots'. We all heard the damn song, but for some reason only Stroud and I were capable of thinking, 'Hold on, every warden present hearing the Calling at the same time, some long before it's due; seems a bit odd, doesn't it?'"

"Let me guess," Anders said wryly, "they were all scurrying about like rats in storm-struck water going, 'We're gonna die! We're gonna die!'"

"Got it in one," Carver said with a heavy sigh.

"So logic flew out the window, the Wardens panicked and... what?" Hawke asked, but immediately answered his own question. "Of course, they did something probably suicidal, definitely stupid. The question is how stupid and how much are we going to regret it?"

"And the answer is, we don't know. After Felix joined us with the news that Corypheus had somehow survived being chopped to pieces and was behind the false calling, it confirmed a suspicion that had already been worrying Stroud, not that he'd told me. After the joining ceremony, Stroud left, wanting to find the others and make them see sense now that he knew for sure about Corypheus."

Carver sighed wearily and rubbed his face before continuing in a hard voice. "He didn't return, at least not while we were still there, but some other wardens, ones I didn't know, did turn up."

Hawke could see where this was going. "And they gave you a come along quietly with us or else, ultimatum, I'm guessing. If they'd ever met you they would've known that wasn't going to work."

"As if you would have done any different." Carver snorted rudely. "They made it clear it was follow without question or be quickly dead. We chose a third option."

"Do you know where they've all gone?" Anders asked. "Apparently they're vanishing from all over Thedas."

Another annoyed sigh. "Stroud didn't see fit to share the information with me. Maybe he thought I'd turn on him if I knew. Whatever it is, it'll be the action of desperate and stupid people. They think they're all dying and that the world will be defenceless against the next Blight."

This was... not good. This was really not good. Hawke sighed and ran a hand over his face tiredly. "Right. New priority for the Inquisition. Track down the Wardens, get them to hold still long enough to listen to reason, and stop them from doing whatever desperately stupid plan they've come up with." Because of course they didn't have enough to deal with already.

"If Stroud yet lives, we need to find him, and if he doesn't, we need to find any notes or clues he might have left. Felix suggested your spymaster would be a useful ally if you were to... be so gracious as to allow her to be." The sarcasm was strong at the end there.

Hawke fought the urge to roll his eyes. One day Carver was going to stop being so defensive around him and acting like Hawke deliberately tried to make his life harder. Today was obviously not going to be that day however.

"Of course," he said, as gracious as he could manage. "Any resources the Inquisition has that can be of use are at your disposal." He couldn't help but add a quiet, "You really didn't have to ask, Carver."

Carver shrugged. "How was I meant to know that? Just what is an Inquisitor anyway, if not a high up Chantry minion?"

Hawke crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow at him. "Did you really think I'd taken leave of my senses enough to join the Chantry? Me?"

"Of course not," Carver said, rolling his eyes. "That's why I asked."

He sighed. "Near as I can tell, Inquisitor is the title they saddle you with when you do something incredibly public and stupid to try and save other people, and they want you to keep doing it. It's like 'Champion' that way. I let them give it to me because then there's a better chance people will actually listen when I tell them to stop acting like idiots and focus on the problem." It was, Hawke reflected silently, also much better than Herald as a title. That was the one that freaked him out.

"So, same old same old, only bigger then." Carver humphed. "Talking of same old stories, I hear that trouble came and found you and everyone unfortunate enough to be close to you at Haven. I suppose I should be grateful he's now limiting his lust for Hawke blood to just yours."

"Less blood and more this," Hawke said, holding up his left hand and showing off the anchor there. "But I could've done without the repeat performance, yeah. Especially since we made sure the show was closed the first time."

Carver looked a little revolted as he stared at Hawke's hand. "That's the key to the Fade that I've been hearing about?"

"No," Anders said, sounding sleepy, "Hawke's just wearing the latest Orlesian fashion for animated palm jewellery."

"That's it," Hawke confirmed. "And as weird as you think it is, it's probably actually weirder." He self consciously opened and closed his hand a few times as he spoke. "Least it stopped growing before it took over more than my palm."

Carver's eyes widened. "You mean you could've become a giant, walking hole to the Fade?"

Hawke rolled his eyes. Only his little brother could make that sound like an insult. "Not exactly the way I would put it, but..."

"This could only happen to you, brother." Carver shook his head in apparent disbelief. "Sometimes it feels like you were born with a big target on the top of your head and a sign saying 'gods smite here'.

"And here, I was blaming the sign on you," Hawke teased. When they were children they had both more than once tagged the other's back with an embarrassing sign.

"You think gods would listen to me?" Shaking his head again, Carver straightened up. "We've been billeted in a tent near the stable. I'd like to get moving again as soon as possible, and I'm sure you'd like that too. So let me know if your spymaster has useful information for me."

Hawke nodded. "Knowing her, it won't take long for her to get you something to work with. I'll speak with Josephine about getting you and Felix actual rooms as well. A tent's not really a good home base." It was the closest he felt he could get to asking Carver to, if not stay, at least come back. As much as they fought, he was his brother and Hawke missed having him around.

"Home base," Carver echoed and then sighed. "Well, I suppose that makes sense, but there's only so much 'that's the Herald's little brother' that I can take. It will keep Felix cheery, at least."

"Among others," Hawke agreed, thinking of Dorian and by extension Fenris. He paused and offered, "I grant that the circumstances are horrible, but it _is_ good to see you, brother."

While Carver's answering smile didn't seem to come easily to him, it was at least a smile. "And you, brother. And you."

***

When Carver had left and Anders had taken himself off to check on the wounded, Hawke found himself with nothing he could legitimately use as a distraction from all the paperwork piled on his desk and the responsibilities it represented.

After their talk about him rendering judgements, Josephine had proven as good as her word, and Hawke had found two reports waiting for him on his desk in his quarters the next time he found his way there. He promptly put them aside to concentrate on other issues, promising he'd get to them as soon as he had the chance.

Which seemed to be what he had now. With a resigned sigh, he sat down to read both of them. When he was finished he leaned back in his chair with a frown.

One case was easy and straightforward – a Knight Captain that they had captured during that whole business at Therinfal Redoubt. It was clear from the information gathered, and the questioning that Leliana's people had conducted, that he had known fully and completely what he had been doing when he had ordered the men under him to take the red lyrium. He'd shown no sign of remorse or regret for his actions, and to just put the icing on that particularly vile cake, he'd also gone off on a rant about mages.

Hawke didn't even have to think hard about what his judgement would be in his case. For the men and women he'd killed, the men and women he'd wilfully seen corrupted, the only just course would be to turn him over to the Templars, the ones that had survived Therinfal. A chance to start policing their own with one who had tried to destroy them from within. Done, dusted, and Hawke was even looking forward a little to being able to give that decision to the knight-captain. Some people brought their own destruction on themselves.

The second case though... Gereon Alexius.

Hawke might have sworn under his breath when he saw the name on that report.

At first glance, this probably should have been as easy a decision as the other case. After all, it was Alexius' name on that awful paper they'd found depicting how to properly torture and kill tranquil in order to make those magic skulls. Not to mention Hawke knew exactly what sort of future Alexius' actions would've helped usher in if he hadn't been stopped because Alexius had sent him there. But...

The fact that they were still finding tranquil skulls set up on posts belied the fact that that was something for which Alexius alone was responsible. And as for that horrid future, if Hawke had been judging the Alexius he'd met there, there would be no question of his guilt and the appropriate punishment. But this Alexius was not that Alexius. Could he really punish the man for things that had never happened and still live with himself?

Moreover, he understood the reasons that had set Alexius down the path he'd gone far too well. He knew what it was like to have a family member – someone you not only love but have spent your entire life trying to protect – contract the blight. He knew the taste of that horror, the fear and denial that lay bitter on the tongue, the dread that curled up heavy and solid around his heart. He knew what it was like to be faced with a loss that was inevitable as it was tragic, how thoughts race looking for a solution nonetheless, willing to grasp at any straws offered.

Hawke had just been lucky that the straw that he'd been offered when Carver had been blighted had been Anders and his offer of tracking down the Grey Wardens to save him, and that he'd asked nothing in return. But if, at that moment, when Carver was fading in his arms, the offer of a way to save him had come from a less reliable source with lots of evil strings attached, Hawke could not say for certain if he would have reacted any differently to how Alexius had.

And that was another thing. Alexius had people who cared about him, who would be affected by whatever punishment Hawke meted out. Felix, who had arguably been through more than enough already, and even Dorian. The two of them sided with Hawke and the Inquisition, aided them against Alexius. They did so because they knew what he had been doing was wrong, but it could not have been an easy decision to make to turn against a man that meant so much to them. What added burdens of guilt and pain would Hawke be heaping on their shoulders if the punishment he chose was of the more permanent kind, like death or tranquillity, two suggestions the file had made?

Well, one thing was for certain, tranquillity was not an option, no matter how poetically fitting it might seem, considering. He was surprised that anyone would even dare suggest it to him, considering who and what he was. He shuddered at the thought of the brand being wielded against another mage at his order, no matter how deserving. He would force that on nobody – if it ever came down to a choice between tranquillity or death, he would give them a clean death. Every mage Hawke had ever met would consider that a mercy.

But he was far from sure that death was a judgement he could give Alexius either. Not only did it seem to come with far more collateral damage than Hawke was comfortable in inflicting, but he was half-convinced it would be a waste. Stupid acts of desperation, even those that cause as much damage as Alexius' had, were sometimes an aberration as opposed to a pattern.

The most perfect example of that slept wrapped around him every night. There were many who would say that Anders deserved to be condemned to death for what he did in Kirkwall, that it was the only just punishment for the lives that were lost, innocent and otherwise, when he blew up the chantry. Hawke's hand had been stayed that day mostly out of love and selfish need. He would not – could not – lose another person he loved, no matter the consequences, but that hadn't been the only reason. He knew Anders, knew that when he was in his right mind and not feeling like his back was pressed against a wall, Anders' first instinct would always be to heal, not harm.

He didn't know Alexius. Hawke sighed and leant back in his seat. It seemed that, if he was going to be able to pass judgement on the man in a way that wouldn't keep him awake at night, wondering if he did the right thing, he was going to have to rectify that.

***

Dorian kept his encouraging smile in place until Felix had started down the stairs to the cells where the prisoners were kept. Where Alexius was being kept. The moment he was out of view though it dropped from his face like the mask it really was.

He hesitated at the top of the stairs, wondering if he should follow even though Felix had asked him not to. His worry that his friend might need the backup warred with his personal desire to be anywhere else but here.

The truth of it was that he didn't want to see Alexius, not as he was, where he was. He had his own father issues he was doing his utter best to put behind him. It seemed unfair to ask him to deal with his mentor issues too. He decided that was just too much authority figure betrayal and disappointment for one man to deal with and almost turned to go.

But this was Felix they were talking about, arguably his best friend. Dorian would be a poor friend indeed if he didn't do his utmost to look out for him. Even if that meant spying on him when Felix didn't want him to.

One thing he was certain of was that just dithering at the top of the stairs here did nothing but make him look silly and possibly shifty to anyone who happened by. Spurred on by that knowledge, he made his way down the stairs that Felix had just taken.

He stopped just outside the door to the dungeon at the bottom of the many, many stairs. Angling his body so that he could remain unseen while looking inside, he leant in just enough to get a lay of the land.

Alexius was in a cell in the farthest wall. Felix was standing in front of the bars, and even from this distance, Dorian could tell that Felix was holding himself tensely while Alexius was regarding him with something that seemed a cross between relief and yearning.

Dorian could hear the murmur of their voices, but they were far enough away and talking quietly enough that he couldn't make out any of the words. He had a solution to that, a spell he'd perfected back when he was being expelled from Circles, proving as precocious at getting into trouble as he had been at magic. As long as he had a line of sight, he would be able to funnel the sound to him and listen to their conversation unnoticed.

He had just raised his hand to make the gesture to trigger the spell when a hand came down on his shoulder. Dorian jumped but managed to muffle the cry of surprise that wanted to escape. He spun around, fully expecting to see one of the guards frowning forbiddingly at him...

Only to find the Inquisitor himself smirking at him.

Dorian wasn't certain if being caught spying on Felix and his father by Hawke was better or worse than being caught by a prison guard. He was still dithering on that point (and probably gaping somewhat unattractively like a fish while he did so) when Hawke's smirk grew wider and warmer, and he wordlessly crooked a finger in a follow me gesture.

With one last glance behind him at Felix and Alexius, Dorian did as he was bade and followed Hawke back up the many many stairs that led to the late afternoon daylight.

"That wasn't what it looked like," he said with as much dignity as he could muster when they were out in the sun again.

"No?" Hawke shot him an amused look as he led the way across the courtyard in the direction of the tavern. "So you weren't spying on Felix visiting his father?"

"Of course not! I was just merely..." Dorian paused as he searched madly for a plausible explanation of why he had been loitering just outside the doorway out of sight. The pause went on far too long as nothing came to mind, and he finally gave in with a sigh. "Fine. I was, indeed, spying on my best friend's visit with his father, but I can assure you it was only with the best of intentions."

"You're worried about Felix?" Hawke glanced sideways at him as they reached the tavern entrance, and he held the door open for Dorian. There seemed to be more than just a friendly concern to the question that made Dorian metaphorically sit up and take notice.

"If you mean do I think Alexius would say or do something with the intent to harm him, then no," he replied. "But... it is an understandably difficult situation."

"Difficult is probably an understatement." Hawke gestured to the bartender for two drinks before leading the way to a small table near the back of the room that would lend them some degree of privacy as long as they kept their voices down. "Especially when you don't know what Alexius' fate is to be yet."

Definitely more than just friendly concern then. "The uncertainty doesn't help," Dorian agreed as he sat down across from Hawke. "I take it you will be... removing that uncertainty?"

"I'm to pass judgement on him, yes." Hawke gave him a humourless smirk. "Not that anybody told me I'd have to judge people when they gave me the fancy title and the big sword I have no use for."

"Perhaps they were afraid you'd say no if they laid out all of the things you'd be expected to do," Dorian replied in kind. He paused for a moment as their drinks were delivered to the table.

Hawke smiled his thanks at the serving girl who had brought them, which sent her away blushing and flustered. He sighed wryly and took a drink.

Dorian did as well, pleasantly surprised at the quality of the offering. "If you brought me here to break the bad news to me, at least it's being done with decent drink."

"Apparently that's a perk of the job," Hawke said, wryly looking down at his own tankard. "At least Varric's always insisting that they only pull the good stuff out when I'm around." He paused, then in a more serious tone added, "No bad news. At least not yet. Well, aside from the fact that someone as unqualified as I am is the one who has to make the decision about Alexius' fate."

"I can think of a lot worst people to have that power," Dorian told him, meaning it. "Including the majority of the Magisterium back home."

Hawke smiled. "That sounds like it might be damning with faint praise, but thank you nonetheless."

"Tevinter politics does set the bar for morality and personal integrity distressingly low, I admit, but it was meant as a compliment," Dorian assured him. He took another sip of his drink. "You also have more right than most to judge Alexius, having experienced first hand what his actions could have led to." The same first hand experience that Dorian had had. It didn't really raise his hopes that Hawke would show leniency.

"I'm not judging the Alexius we fought in the future," Hawke told him soberly. "That Alexius was too far gone to do anything with other than what we did. I'm judging the Alexius of here and now, the one who... maybe still has a chance."

The hope that Dorian had been trying to tamp down flared up again. "You think so?"

"It's possible," Hawke said, leaning forward towards Dorian. "The only Alexius I've known is the one who was firmly caught up in doing bad things out of desperation. It doesn't seem fair to me to judge him only on that, not if that's more of an aberration than an example of what he really is."

"Ah, that's why I'm sitting here, being plied with the good drink," Dorian said, sitting up a little straighter in enlightenment. "You want me to tell you about the Alexius I knew before this whole mess."

"Yes," Hawke admitted. "I... can't promise anything, bar that I haven't made my mind up yet, and anything you could tell me could help. But I'll understand if you would rather not..."

Because, of course, he would still be able to look Felix in the eye if he didn't try to help Hawke understand the man Alexius had been. Like he'd be able to look himself in the eye. Dorian sighed. "Far better you ask me than Felix. That would be a whole new level of guilt for him to feel. Ask me what you will, Inquisitor. I will answer to the best of my abilities."

Hawke started simply. "You said he was your mentor?"

Dorian nodded. "He was my patron. He sponsored me to the higher ranks in the Circles. As such, my successes were his. I had a lot of successes, naturally. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement."

_Mutually beneficial arrangement._ Dorian mentally scoffed at himself. What a fine, impersonal way to categorise what was one of the most important relationships in his life. If he wanted to give Hawke a real idea of what kind of man Alexius had been, before he'd gone off the path of sanity, he would have to stop trying to distance himself.

He took a deep breath and continued. "If I'm being completely honest, he was far more than just my patron. Some of my happiest times were working at his side."

"How did he take you on?" Hawke asked. "Is a patron arranged by your family? Does a magister go browse through all the young mages at the Circle looking for one to take home? Draw a name out of a magic hat?"

"Those are the most usual methods, well, aside from the magic hat. I, being far from the usual young mage, acquired my patron in an altogether different way." Which made it sound far more distinguished than it had been. Before Hawke could do more than raise an inquisitive eyebrow, Dorian continued with the... necessary background. "There was a time in my youth when I was determined to... make a spectacle of myself."

"No, not you," Hawke said, with perfectly deadpan delivery. "I'm shocked. Really, this is my shocked face."

"Yes, yes, mock me if you must," Dorian said. "But I mention it merely because the spectacle I was intent on making at the time was far less positive than the image of me you've grown accustomed to basking in. To whit, my father had plans for my future that I very much did not agree with, and I had come to the brilliant conclusion that the best way to express said disagreement was to spend as much time as possible getting drunk and frequenting brothels. Which was where I met Alexius."

Hawke's eyebrows both went up in surprise. "You met Alexius in a brothel?"

"I'm sure our paths probably crossed before – he and my father were acquainted and quite often found themselves as political allies – but that was the first meeting of which I have any real memory. I was rather... involved with several strapping young men, looked up and saw Alexius standing there. Naturally I, being the polite sort even when drunk and debauched, invited him to join in." Dorian frowned slightly as he realised something. "He may have actually been looking for me for my father, now that I think about it. He was one of the few magisters I know of who was actually happily married so brothels weren't really his thing."

"There's plenty of reasons a person could find themselves in a brothel that doesn't involve actually partaking of their services," Hawke said, sounding a little defensive to Dorian's ears.

"Speaking from experience?" Dorian asked.

"You could say that. I got to be on a first name basis with about half the workers at the Blooming Rose back in Kirkwall, I was there so often, but it was never because I was _visiting._ " He paused and added a little grudgingly. "Well, aside from that one time, but that was mostly just to make Carver uncomfortable."

Dorian put his elbows on the table and leaned his chin in his hands. "Really, the number of hints about entertaining stories all of you former Kirkwallians drop is staggering. One of these nights, you are going to have to actually share some of them."

Hawke gave him a small smile. "That can probably be arranged, if we can find time for another night of Wicked Grace."

"I'll hold you to that," Dorian said with a nod.

The conversation paused, and they both drank, and then Hawke brought it back to the subject at hand. "So Alexius came upon you in a brothel, and you invited him to join you. And his response was to offer you an apprenticeship?"

"His response was to politely decline and wait until I was finished. I was, perhaps, a bit more inebriated than was wise, and he insisted on taking me back to his place and letting me sleep it off. The next morning over breakfast, he mentioned a project he was working on and said something that I knew was wildly incorrect. I corrected him, and then we spent the next two hours debating magical theory, at the end of which he offered to become my patron." Dorian found himself smiling at the memory. "I, not being a _complete_ idiot, accepted immediately."

Hawke smiled a little at that and took a drink. "What was he like as a mentor?"

"Challenging," Dorian said, remembering the early days before the darkspawn attack on Felix and his mother when it all went to shit. "In the best sort of way. My time with him before... well, before. I think that was the happiest I'd ever been before coming here. And it wasn't just the work," he added, wanting to make Hawke understand.

Now that he had started, now that he wasn't trying to avoid the memories, he found he felt the need to defend the man Alexius had been, even if he couldn't defend the man he was currently. "The obvious love between him and his wife Livia, the way that they both always treated Felix, they were the example of what a real family could be like. Felix's magic ability isn't very strong, you see; his strengths lie elsewhere, but weak magic can be almost as scandalous for an altus as my own proclivities. It never made any difference to Alexius though; he always accepted Felix, loved Felix, just the way he was. He was a good man, Hawke. One of the best I've ever met." Dorian sighed sadly. "Which makes seeing how far he's fallen all the more tragic."

Hawke was silent for a moment, and when he did speak, his voice was soft and sympathetic. "Thank you for telling me about him. I know this can't have been easy to talk about, but... it's helped. I think I have a better idea of how to proceed now."

Dorian desperately wanted to ask what that idea was, but at the same time, he equally as desperately didn't want to know. Caught between the two warring desires, he just nodded mutely and took another drink.

He would find out soon enough anyway.

***

It was getting late. Sooner or later, Fenris would have to admit he wouldn't be seeing Dorian tonight and let himself fall asleep, but not yet. It was trying to read by candlelight that was making him yawn so much, he decided. He needed to do something more active.

He glanced over at the heap of rubble and rubbish piled up against the wall at the other side of his room. It had been hurriedly cleared there to make room for the bed when it arrived, but he hadn't done anything with it since. Dorian had made so much more effort with his assigned space. Fenris liked how clear it was but didn't seem to be able to clear his own.

Until now at least. Time to start moving it out to the corridor to start with. He didn't want to carry it all the way to where unwanted material was currently being dumped in case he missed Dorian.

When he opened the door with his first arm load he came face to face with the mage in question, hand raised as if about to knock. Dorian actually jumped a little, eyes going wide in surprise. "I... I wasn't sure if you'd still be awake," he said as way of greeting.

"I nearly wasn't. I decided hard labour was needed to remedy that." Fenris turned around and dumped the rubble back with all the rest. "Come in then," he said with a smile, which then faded as he thought to ask, "That's if you want to?"

Dorian raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you think I came all this way to knock on your door just to tell you I didn't want to come in?" he asked as he strode into the room and past Fenris to perch on the edge of his bed, looking around curiously. "You really don't have any idea how to go about decorating and making a place livable do you? Although I suppose piles of rubble are a step up from mummified corpses. Unless... please tell me you haven't started naming the rubble after venatori." The tone was teasing, but with a warmth that prevented it from being hurtful.

"Not yet," Fenris said. "It's true, I'm not very... domestic. I don't know how to be. It was never part of my duties. We could go to your room?" he offered, looking at the still open door.

"Only if you want to," Dorian told him, the teasing manner falling away for a moment. "As for the problem of decorating, the solution is simple. I have excellent taste and will be happy to guide you in discovering your own."

"Of the things you have helped me learn, this is already my least favourite," Fenris said dryly. "But if it will allow you to feel comfortable here, by all means."

A look of dismay crossed Dorian's face, but only for a second. He got up and crossed over to where Fenris was still standing. "You're here," he said, leaning in for a very brief kiss. "That's comfort enough."

Fenris kissed him back, but then pulled far enough away to say, "That was a joke, Dorian. Apparently a bad one, but certainly there's no need to be concerned about it."

"Ah." Dorian gave him a weak smile. "Now I've gone and made things awkward. My apologies."

Fenris had to stop himself from frowning. He contemplated asking what the matter was, but his attempts at sympathetic conversation rarely went well with anyone, and anyway, whatever he thought he was sensing was probably nothing at all. Instead, he moved closer, putting his hand on Dorian's hip. "How tired are you feeling?"

"Not tired enough that I wish to resort to physical labour to stay awake," Dorian teased, manner seemingly all ease again. "Though I'm certain if I were, we'd be able to come up with an alternative that proved to be sufficiently stimulating."

"Do you still want to... experiment?"

Dorian's smile in response to that question was heated, but there was also something almost tender about it. He stepped back enough to be able to perform a formal bow. "My dear Fenris, I am at your beck and call for any and all experiments whenever you may want."

That made Fenris chuckle. "Be careful what you offer. Who knows what I might want?"

"That's hardly a deterrent. You haven't figured out by now that I like playing with fire?" Dorian teased, giving Fenris one of those enticing looks through half closed eyes that was almost like a physical touch itself.

It made Fenris press forward involuntarily, his arms wrapping around Dorian, keeping him close. He rested his head against Dorian's shoulder. "I want us both to be naked when we try this. I know that sounds unwise."

He felt Dorian's fingers comb gently through his hair. "Perhaps it is, but it feels... right. Something this intimate shouldn't involve robes and armour getting in the way."

Fenris chuckled. "The endless straps..."

"I was thinking more of the sharp pointy metal bits of someone's armour," Dorian shot back. "All well and good in a fight, but not the most conducive to when you actually want someone to get close."

"True enough," Fenris said, stepping back in order to start stripping. "It's still new to me to have someone I want to get close to."

Dorian had begun getting out of his own clothing, but paused at that. "It means a lot that you want that with me. I don't think I can express to you how much."

Fenris also paused, in his case to stare at Dorian. "You are everything I never dreamt possible for myself." As usual, it was only after he said such things that he realised he was being over-forthright. Again. No matter, he never wanted to lie to Dorian.

Dorian stared at him for a moment with wide eyes and then made a small sound in the back of his throat and closed the scant distance between them. He took Fenris' face between his hands and gave him a kiss that made Fenris' toes curl.

"How are you even real?" Dorian murmured when he finally pulled back enough to talk.

Fenris raised a brow. "You believe me some Fade spirit now?" he asked with a smile.

The glint in Dorian's eyes turned mischievous. "Well, you do spend an inordinate amount of time half in the Fade," he teased.

"Do I?" Fenris asked, and with a flex of his shoulders ignited the lyrium across his body, letting it burn until he was translucent. He stepped forward, leaving the remainder of his clothes behind and then, laughing, let the lyrium fade.

Dorian stared shocked for a moment then let out a peal of delighted laughter. "And just how long have you been practicing that?"

Fenris grinned, enjoying Dorian's reaction. "That and other things – ever since Varric told me the full story of what happened in the thwarted future."

"A grim motivation for something so delightful," Dorian said.

"I feel fortunate to have avoided it, but I was intrigued when I heard how I– _he_ bypassed the magical lock. It made me realise I've been shy in exploring my abilities."

"So you're doing all sorts of experimenting now." Dorian shook his head and asked, "Would it be forward to say I'm proud of you? Stretching beyond what you thought were your limits is never easy."

Fenris smiled. "A shame I can't be as efficient with your buckles and straps." He stepped forward, aiming to try anyway.

Dorian went back to work on them as well and between the two of them they got rid of Dorian's clothes quickly. After leaning in to steal another kiss, Dorian said, "You're calling the shots on this little experiment, but I think we'd be best served to try it lying down."

Nodding, Fenris turned and leapt lightly to the bed. "Light the fire if you need to," he said as he sat down, crossing his legs.

Dorian did so with a single graceful gesture, before sitting opposite Fenris on the bed, mirroring his position. "Just so you know, I am probably going to be continuously asking if you're all right when we do this. To the point of being annoying. I... don't want to hurt you because I'm not paying enough attention."

"You won't hurt me," Fenris said confidently, enjoying the view of naked Dorian. "I'll be controlling your hand. If things do go too far, I'll only have myself to blame, but they won't."

Dorian took a deep breath and let it out, his entire body moving with the motion. "All right then," he said, holding his hand out to Fenris. "Let's experiment."

Feeling brave, Fenris took Dorian's hand and laid it, not on a more sensible location of leg or arm, but on his chest at a point where many lines of lyrium met. He shut his eyes.

The first sensation was the simple warmth of skin on skin, and that was heady enough, but then the pricking started, like the lyrium was being gently teased. Opening his eyes, he asked, "Can you feel it? Reaching out to you?"

"Yes." Dorian's gaze went back and forth between their hands and Fenris' face. "Can I... Do you want me to start trying to pull on it?"

He did, but, "Not yet. I need to get used to this." With his hand flat over Dorian's, he pushed it down to his navel and then around. He looked at Dorian, realising he was bending his hand at a slightly unnatural angle. "This isn't comfortable. Let's lie down, face to face."

He let go of Dorian's hand long enough for them to rearrange themselves until they were lying on their sides, staring into each other's eyes. Once again Dorian held out his hand to Fenris, this time with a tiny smile. "Best get on with it before I forget myself and start kissing you senseless."

"I'm not sure I'd object." Fenris placed Dorian's hand back onto his chest. He moved it around slowly, enjoying the sensation. "Dorian, I'm not letting go of your hand, but I want you to be the one moving it now. I want to know what that feels like."

"All right." It took Dorian a few seconds to comply, however, and at first his movements were tentative, just an inch one way or another. When Fenris didn't stop him, he gradually became more confident, slowly dragging his fingers along the lines of lyrium, his eyes fixed on their moving hands.

"I'm touching you," he said, and Fenris could hear the shy delight in his voice. "How does it feel? Is... is this all right?"

"Yes," Fenris said, and he had to admit he sounded breathless. "Just don't... pull, not yet. This feels perfect."

" _You_ feel perfect," Dorian replied and then covered his face with his free hand. " _Kaffas_ , the things that come out of my mouth around you. I sound like a bad romance novel. Ignore me."

"I don't want to ignore you," Fenris said heatedly, leaning forward to kiss him. Then he removed his hand from Dorian's and put it on Dorian's shoulder instead. "Try my back."

Again there was a few seconds of hesitation before Dorian's fingers trace the lyrium paths across his side and onto his back. "Still all right?" he asked, eyes searching Fenris' face with more than a hint of worry though he didn't stop touching.

Fenris nodded, having trouble stopping his eyes from flickering shut. "I'm starting to realise that it isn't how it feels that's the problem, not precisely."

"New knowledge is always an outcome we want from experimentation," Dorian said, continuing the slow brushing of his fingers over Fenris' skin. "What is the problem precisely?"

"What it makes me want to do." He squirmed against Dorian's touch. "Stop now. Please."

Dorian instantly obeyed, going so far as to raise both hands in the air.

"Thanks," Fenris muttered, feeling embarrassed despite Dorian's acceptance of his issues. He let his eyes close and tried to even out his breathing.

He could practically feel Dorian's concern radiating off the man in waves. Then he felt fingers combing through his hair soothingly. "Is this all right?" Dorian asked worriedly.

"Yes. I'm... sorry." He let his head bend forward to touch Dorian's. "And I'm angry. Not at you," he added hurriedly. "At myself and at–" he let out a long breath "–Danarius."

"Being angry at Danarius seems more than reasonable," Dorian told him. "Angry at yourself, I'm not so sure about, though I would never presume to tell you how you should feel. I would like to understand though. You said the problem was what being touched makes you want to do?"

He didn't even want to say the word, but he forced it out for Dorian's sake. "Submit."

There was absolute silence from Dorian for a moment, and then he let out a long string of cursing, finishing off with, "If it wouldn't probably destroy the very fabric of reality, I would go back in time and _obliterate_ that _filius canis quis podex_ from existence."

"I'm sorry," Fenris said wretchedly. "I don't know what I can do about it. That it still affects me like this after so long..."

"No." Dorian took Fenris' face between his hands again, forcing him to meet his gaze. "You don't apologise for this," he said fiercely. "This was something done to you, it's not your fault."

"It feels like it is," he admitted glumly. "I should be stronger than... my conditioning."

He was surprised when Dorian laughed disbelievingly at that. "You are. Look at how far you've come since when you were Danarius' creature. You've broken the chains of so much of what he conditioned you to do, to be... This is just one last thing. We'll break you free of this too, I promise."

Fenris stared at Dorian, desperately wanting to believe him. "How?"

"I have a few ideas, but I want to do some research before committing to any of them. And the solution will depend on whether this was a magical borne compulsion or some... more physical conditioning." Dorian gave him a solemn look. "But anything that can be done can be undone. I just need some time to figure out how." He quirked a smile. "I am, after all, absolutely brilliant."

"You are," Fenris told him. "For what it's worth, I think it's both. The magic was designed to make me unable to fight him when he took mana from me. The pleasure... I'm sorry. This is– I feel humiliated."

Dorian kissed him gently. "You don't think this somehow makes you appear lesser in my eyes, do you? Because I can assure you it doesn't, closer to the opposite in fact."

Fenris raised a hand to Dorian's face, touching his cheek with fingertips. "Do not think that my... unwillingness to submit means that a lack of trust. I have never trusted anyone more."

It was Dorian's eyes that fluttered shut this time. "The things you say," he murmured, disbelief and wonder in his tone. He opened his eyes again and fixed Fenris with his gaze. "I know this has nothing to do with me and how much you do or don't trust me. It's about choice and being able to choose. The way things stand right now, in those circumstances you aren't able to choose. That's what we're going to get back for you."

Despite everything, Fenris found that he believed Dorian. "With your help, maybe we can destroy this demon too."

"That's the spirit!" Dorian gave him one of his brilliant smiles.

"For tonight, enough experimentation. Let's stick with what we know we enjoy. We might need to move to your room for that though, unless you fancy exchanging silk for leather."

"I... could be talked into it," Dorian said, giving him a coy look. "Especially when the alternative is having to get up and dressed before we get to the good part."

Fenris nodded. "I'll tie it carefully."

***

Hawke watched approvingly as Connor cast Winter's Grasp, freezing one large plant, but leaving the ones to either side untouched. "Good! You've been practising, I can tell," he praised.

It was the first time since he'd returned from what he was privately thinking of as the 'Recruit Someone Who Isn't What He Seems' trip that he'd had a chance to really work with Connor, and he was happily surprised at the progress the boy was showing.

"Thank you," Connor said, but he didn't really sound as if he meant it. Giddy barked at him, just once, and Connor told him, "I know."

"You don't sound too thrilled," Hawke ventured carefully. "I know these exercises aren't the most exciting..."

"It's not that, Inquisitor," Connor said hurriedly. "It's just- You shouldn't be wasting your time on me, not when– Uh, I didn't mean to tell you what you should be doing. I just– I think you think I'm something I'm not."

Hawke held back the urge to sigh. He had thought he'd been making progress with Connor's confidence as well as his spellwork, but perhaps not as much as he'd hoped. "You're not a waste of my time, Connor. Far from it. There's a lot of things I have to deal with right now that I don't particularly want to, but you aren't one of them. I like working with you."

Connor looked down. "What would you like me to try next?"

He wasn't ready to let this go yet though. "What do you think I think you are that you're not?" he asked gently.

"You think... that I have potential."

"And you think you don't?" Again he had thought they'd moved beyond this, but maybe not. He was combating a mindset that Connor had had over ten years to build, after all.

"I think I don't," Connor echoed. "I also think that you think I want to be a mage."

"No," Hawke said soberly. "I know you don't want to be a mage. You didn't choose to have magic, and I know if someone gave you the option to give it up, you would."

"I must sound so ungrateful," Conner said miserably. "I know that being your apprentice is an unbelievable honour, and I _do_ want to learn magic theory."

"You just wish you could give up the practical bits." Hawke nodded. "I know. And you don't sound ungrateful, you sound like someone who is still struggling to come to terms with who and what he is. That can be difficult for anyone, and doubly so for mages. How can it not be? We're told all our lives that being a mage is a terrible thing, something we should be pitied for at best, feared for at worst."

"We _should_ be feared. Because... because people are weak and corruptible and... and power-hungry, and mages are people who can kill with a thought!"

"Mages can heal with a thought too. Or help keep people warm, or build stuff, or a hundred other things," Hawke countered. "Magic is just a tool, and like any tool it can be used for good or ill. And yes, one of those uses can be to kill. Still doesn't mean that those who wield it should be automatically feared more than those who can wield a sword or a bow."

"Can you teach me to heal?" Connor asked, hesitantly hopeful.

"Not everyone has a talent for it, but if you do, I can arrange for you to learn." Hawke eyed him with an assessing eye. With everything the young man had been through, Hawke could see how spirit healing would draw him. More that that, Connor had seemed to have an instinct to heal even before things had gone horribly wrong for him. It had been his desire to heal his father that the demon had used to get its claws into him, after all. "There's definitely some basics, at least, that we can work on, as a start," he offered.

"I would like that, if you would too."

Hawke grinned at him. This was the first real enthusiasm Connor had shown for any magic. Like Hawke wasn't going to grab onto that and run. Even if it meant he had to do more homework himself. Healing had never been one of his strong suits. "I'll see what I can put together for our next lesson," he promised.

"Thank you!" Connor actually smiled, and Giddy barked, pushing his nose into the boy's hand.

That made Hawke's grin wider as he reached out to scratch the dog's ears; asking Giddy to take care of Connor was obviously one of the best ideas he'd had in awhile.

And speaking of what he hoped were good ideas... "There's something else I want to discuss with you," he said to Connor. "Josephine is working on arranging a trip to Denerim. Apparently I'm supposed to go be inquisitorial and cement some official alliances or something. I was wondering if you would like to come along when I go."

The smile was replaced by an open mouth. "Do you mean... Are you going to see King Alistair?"

"That's the plan," Hawke confirmed.

"And... my parents? I haven't seen them for so long."

"That's why I thought you might like to come," Hawke said. "To visit."

"I would... really appreciate that. Thank you very much for asking me." Now the smile was almost a grin.

This was a much better look for Connor than the perpetual worried frown he usually wore. Hawke promised himself once again that he'd try to make it a less rare occasion. "Excellent," he said, clapping his hands together. "I'll have Josephine add your name to... whatever official arrangements need to be made. So they know you're coming."

"Thank you," Connor said again. "Do you think the Hero of Ferelden will be there?"

"I don't know," Hawke said. "I heard she was travelling. But I'd very much like to meet her." That was an understatement. If there was anyone else in the world that could understand what it felt like to have everyone hang their hopes of fixing things on you, it was her.

"I owe her... everything really. Her and her companion, Morrigan, a witch of the wilds, who went into the Fade to defeat the desire demon." He looked down frowning slightly. "I can sometimes almost remember it, as if I were the demon..."

"You weren't the demon," Hawke told him firmly. "But you were sharing space with it and some things can bleed through. Like sharing a room with your brother and having to listen to him snore."

That pulled a small chuckle from Connor. "Did your brother do that? I heard he was here."

"Carver has a snore that is only somewhat quieter than a dragon's roar," Hawke said wryly. "Come to think of it, that might be why I've never been as scared of dragons as I should probably be."

Giddy, who had been sitting scratching, perked up then. At first Hawke thought it was the mention of Carver that did it, but he quickly realised it was the man himself, heading towards them through the garden.

"This place is a bloody maze," Carver said crossly as he drew close enough. His scowl dropped though as he crouched to give Giddy a belly rub that the dog had immediately requested. "Good boy. Yes, you are."

"Speaking of the dragon..." Hawke drawled, smirking at his brother and his dog. "Connor, this is my brother Carver. Carver, my apprentice, Connor. Play nice."

"You have an apprentice now?" Carver said, standing back up. "How do you even have the time?" He turned to Connor and said in a solemn voice, "You have my sincerest condolences."

Connor giggled... then looked guilty and put his hand over his mouth.

"Yes, my brother is very funny. I've been laughing at him for years," Hawke said to Connor, putting on a long suffering tone. To Carver he said, "Yes, I have an apprentice, and I find the time. Like Dad did for me and Bethany."

"Father wasn't the Inquisitor of Thedas. Or the Herald of Andraste for that matter." Carver shook his head ruefully and said to Connor, "Don't be afraid to stand up for yourself with my brother. He's all kinds of brilliant, a real hero like in the books, but he can overwhelm you without meaning to. You need to keep hold of who _you_ are. As a role model he's an impossible ideal." Carver looked at Hawke then, as if daring him to contradict.

Hawke cocked his head to the side as he looked at his brother. "I think there might have been a compliment or two mixed in with the implication I'm impossible."

"Just the truth," Carver said. "I came to tell you we'll be off in the morning. Your scary spymaster gave me what I needed."

"Leliana isn't really scary," Connor said. "She's been very kind to me."

"She's been kind to me too," Hawke told him with a smile. "She's only scary to those who deserve it." He paused. "And Carver, apparently."

"I hope you're not implying that I deserve it, brother," Carver said, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, she gave me some ravens to take with me so I'll keep in touch with whatever we find... if anything." He grimaced. "I suppose it's too much to hope for that we'll find Stroud alive. Bastards."

"It doesn't hurt to hope until we know for sure," Hawke said. Sometimes hope had been the only thing keeping him going. Sure it hurt horribly when those hopes were dashed as they so often were, but the payoff was worth it.

"Better to think the worse and then be pleasantly surprised, in _my_ opinion," Carver said, and didn't that sum up the difference between them?

"If you want to walk around being in a bad mood all the time, yeah," Hawke countered, but smiled at his brother. "Anything you need? I assume you've got horses and supplies..."

Carver nodded. "Just need to crowbar my recruit away from the apparently very exciting books he's found... which means finding him first."

"Have you tried the library?" Hawke asked. "That tends to be where all the books exciting or otherwise are kept."

"First place I looked. Elf woman there said he'd be with that other Tevinter, Dorian... but where's Dorian?" Carver shrugged.

"Generally? You can find Dorian in the vicinity of Fenris."

Carver snorted. "And who would've predicted that when we first met Ser Broody in Kirkwall Lowtown? So, where's Fenris?"

"Generally in the vicinity of Dorian," Hawke said with a straight face, then put his hands up defensively when Carver epically scowled at him. "Try the tavern. They spend a lot of time there complaining about the quality of the alcohol they're drinking."

"Tavern. Right." Carver scratched Giddy's ears. "Well, if I don't see you again before we leave, try not to die while we're gone. And do try to avoid any more titles. You'll collapse under the weight." He turned to Connor. "Remember what I said about being you not him, all right?" And with that he strode off the way he'd come.

Hawke watched him go, then shook his head with that old familiar fond exasperation. "So, that's my brother," he said wryly.

"He seemed different from the grey wardens I met before," Connor said.

"He's Carver," Hawke said with a shrug. To him that was explanation enough, but Connor probably needed more. "He didn't become a warden by choice – we went into the Deep Roads on an expedition, and he caught the blight. If Anders hadn't been able to sense other wardens nearby, he would've died. But... as much as I missed having him around, I think the Wardens have been good for him." He paused. "At least until... whatever it is that's going on with them now."

"Uh, I know that people are worried about the Wardens, but I'm not sure why? Is something happening to them?" Conner asked, looking worried.

"We don't know for sure," Hawke told him. He hesitated, briefly debated how much to share before continuing. "Most wardens seemed to have disappeared, gone to ground somewhere. And because of Anders and Carver, we know that Corypheus is trying to mess with Wardens' minds, trick them into thinking they're dying."

"Why would he do that? Is it because the Wardens could stop him?"

"Maybe," Hawke said, though that didn't sound completely right to him. "Carver's trying to find the other wardens and hopefully the answer as well." He paused. "That's another reason I want to meet with King Alistair," he said. "He's a warden too."

Connor swallowed, obviously thinking through the ramifications of that little tidbit. "When are we leaving?"

"There's some political wheels that need to be greased first – Josephine's on that, but it should be soon." He gave Connor his best reassuring smile. "If anything's hinky in Denerim, we'll fix it. Promise."

***

Dorian shielded his eyes as he stepped out of the kitchens and into the overly brilliant sunlight. After a morning spent cataloguing more books down in the secret library, it seemed even brighter than usual. His only saving grace was that he wasn't even the littlest bit hungover. If he had been, he was fairly certain his eyeballs would've spontaneously caught fire.

As it was, it took so long for his vision to adjust that he almost decided to just turn around and go back where he'd came from. The sun being too bright would've only been an excuse though. He was barely maybe a quarter of the way through his organising efforts, after all, and who knew what other impossibly rare volume he would find next? That was the real reason he was finding it difficult to pry himself out of the place.

But he did have a few things that had lured him out. Firstly, there was the fact that Felix was currently at Skyhold, although Felix had said that it probably wouldn't be long before he and Hawke's brother left again. Dorian wanted to spend as much time with him when he had the chance as he could.

Then there was also the fact that Fenris had said he was going to do some training with that new mercenary company led by the Qunari spy. Hawke had asked him to evaluate them, and, really, it would take a stronger man than Dorian to resist the lure of watching the elf take apart an entire company.

The fact that his feet carried him towards the area that had been set aside for such training exercises gave away which option had really lured him out of his cave of books.

While the Chargers were indeed there, Dorian couldn't immediately see Fenris with them. He caught Krem's eye and was directed towards the nearby tents by a gesturing thumb. As he walked between the tents, he caught the sound of voices. One was Fenris and the other... was Felix. Interesting.

"...because I needed to ask your advice," Fenris was now saying.

Dorian blinked and found his steps slowing before he could walk himself into view. He wasn't eavesdropping, he told himself, not really. He was simply waiting for the proper time to announce his presence while endeavouring not to interrupt a private conversation.

Really.

"This has to be about Dorian," Felix answered dryly, apparently unable to think of any other subject Fenris would ask him about.

"I, uh, assume that means he's told you?" Fenris sounded awkward. It was easy to visualise him shuffling on the spot.

"Well, it's not as if you're hiding it," Felix said, sounding... bemused.

"Right." A short pause was followed by Fenris saying gruffly, "I'd like to ask your advice about a suitable... symbol."

Fenris wanted a symbol? Of him, Dorian? Of them together? That... hadn't been where Dorian had thought the conversation was going. He wasn't exactly sure where he thought it had been going, but that was definitely not it.

"A symbol of what?" Felix said carefully.

"Of him. I... would rather not wear his house crest, but something else that's recognisably him? I was thinking maybe... a design of a peacock's eye feather?" Dorian wasn't sure he'd ever heard Fenris sound so unsure of himself, there was something almost like panic in his voice.

Dorian nearly stepped forward then, his need to reassure and soothe that panic almost overwhelming his desire to hear more. Almost.

But hearing what Fenris wanted and was putting so much thought into, all for _him,_ warmed Dorian in a way he'd rarely felt before, and he wanted to hear more, even in the face of Fenris' obvious discomfort.

He was a very bad man.

"I think he would like it very much," Felix said. "Especially if you found a way to add a snake into the design."

"Ah yes, he does seem to like serpents." That got a nervous laugh from both of them.

Good old Felix. Dorian found himself smiling as he mentally designed a new, personal crest with snakes and peacock feathers. Though, no, it would ruin the gesture Fenris was trying to make if he did so. He should leave the design up to Fenris. Although... maybe he could design a personal crest for Fenris... He quickly became distracted by wondering what kind of symbols would work best to represent the elf.

"Thank you," Fenris was saying. "If you would, please don't tell him. I want him to be surprised. Hopefully pleasantly. It might take a while for the craftswoman I've had recommended to me to make it."

"Of course. Uh..." Now Felix seemed the hesitant one, surprisingly. "He has expensive tastes. Do you need–"

"You better not be about to offer me money, Tevinter." And that was Fenris' 'don't push me' voice. Not good.

Though it was closer to the way he had expected Fenris to interact with Felix, given that Felix was as much an altus as Dorian was, and Fenris' opinions hadn't changed _that_ much.

If it had been anybody other than Felix, Dorian would have already rushed forward ready to prevent things from getting out of control, possibly in a glowing, bloodshedding way, but this _was_ Felix. And Felix had always seemed to find a way to diffuse situations that were explosions waiting to happen.

So Dorian held his place and listened, but was ready to interrupt at the first sign things were heading towards potential violence.

"I was more thinking of providing you with the name of a supplier of rare materials who owes me a favour," Felix said, sounding understandably cautious. "If you can provide your craftswoman with the raw supplies, she should be able to create the item quicker and at a reduced cost."

"I, uh, that would be very kind of you. Thank you. And I apologise for the... the unneeded aggression. I'm sorry." Fenris was in control again, thank the Maker.

Dorian breathed out a sigh of relief.

"It's completely understandable," Felix assured him. "Think nothing of it. I'll go write you a letter of introduction to the man right now."

Which meant Felix was on the move, and Dorian needed to be in a less incriminating position. Before he had a chance to shift however, a far too loud male voice came from behind him.

"Ah-ha, Dorian, is it?"

Dorian startled so badly that he found himself biting back on a cry of surprise. He spun to face the speaker.

It was Hawke's brother. "Sorry to interrupt your... whatever it was you were doing so intently. I'm looking for your fellow countryman, who seems to have perfected invisibility magic. My brother, and indeed a number of other people, said he'd be with you."

Thankfully, even when flustered, Dorian never had trouble talking. Perhaps especially when flustered. "He's not," he said, "though as a matter of fact I was looking for Felix as well." He paused. "Though am I correct in thinking you looking for him means my time with him is going be extremely limited?"

"Wardens have duties. We can't all gad about as we please." Carver then seemed to relent from his strict attitude. "But we'll be back. My brother has offered Skyhold to use as our base while these matters continue. Ah-ha!" Carver looked over Dorian's shoulder. "Found you. I'm thinking I need to give you a bell to wear around your neck."

When Dorian turned it was to see Felix... and Fenris who was frowning at him.

"Just the two I was looking for!" Dorian said, as if he hadn't been listening to their conversation for the last five minutes. "I was going to ask if you both wanted to grab some lunch, but apparently Felix has to go be all responsible and... warden-y." He waved an elegant hand at Carver.

"Sorry, Ser Carver," Felix said, sounding uncharacteristically meek. "Did you need me for something in particular?"

"We're leaving at dawn tomorrow," Carver said. "Get whatever research you're working on done and make sure you get a good night's sleep. We're heading for the Storm Coast."

"We swung by there on our last little outing," Dorian put in. "Horrible place, aptly named, never stopped raining. You have my sympathies."

"I'll head back to my work immediately, ser," Felix said, approximating standing to attention. He turned to Dorian, "I'll try to find you later if I may." Then after a meaningful nod to Fenris, he strode off, Carver following.

Dorian watched them go, finding himself frowning a little. It was only now seeing him with Carver that it truly sunk in that Felix was now a Grey Warden, and the danger that could put him in. "Whatever it is they're after, Carver better not get him killed," he muttered, half plea, half threat.

"He's a warden," Fenris said from beside him. "Death is a risk for any warden who does their job properly, just the same as it is for us in the Inquisition."

"I know," Dorian said with a frustrated sigh. He knew he needed to let Felix be what he was and do what he willingly took on, but... "I just got used to the idea that Felix isn't dying. I'd really like to hold onto that for a bit longer before worrying about losing him again."

"Carver is a good warrior, and with age he has learnt more restraint than he knew when I first met him. He won't take unnecessary risks."

"I'm sure, but..." Dorian shook his head, irritated at himself. "Ignore me. I've just spent an inordinate amount of the past year or so watching Felix slowly die by inches and not being able to stop it in spite of my best efforts, but I know he can more than take care of himself. I will get over this insane urge to wrap Felix up in layers of permanent barrier spells eventually."

"I... understand." Fenris put his hand on Dorian's arm. "Was it me or Felix you were looking for?"

"Both, really." He turned more fully to face Fenris, shaking off his worry and smiling at him. "Though I admit I was maybe looking for you just a little more intently. Consider it the lure of watching you hit people with that monstrosity you carry around."

"There's a joke there, I'm sure," Fenris said with dry humour. "I'm afraid you missed that display anyway, although there's bound to be another soon enough."

"I'm sure the display was incredibly... stimulating," he said, still smiling. " You'll have to let me know when so I don't miss it again, _amatus_."

It was only when Fenris' expression became stuck in a kind of frowning smile that Dorian realised what he'd said, not that Fenris seemed to mind. On the contrary, he pressed forward. "Have you time to spare right now?" he asked in a deep, low voice.

Dorian swore he could feel the sound of it like a physical touch all along his spine and just managed to keep from shivering. "Since it seems lunch with Felix is off the table, it would seem that I do," he replied, his own voice gone quiet and husky in response.

Fenris' hand smoothed down Dorian's back and onto his arse. "Shall we retire then?"

"You had but to ask... _amatus_." This time he said the word deliberately, watching Fenris' face for a reaction.

Fenris seemed to shiver and pressed closer still, his fingers pressing into the muscles of Dorian's buttocks. "To hear you say that, I never thought anyone... Dorian, we need to be somewhere private immediately!"

Dorian agreed, Fenris' reaction enough to send a bolt of something warm through him, more potent than just arousal alone. "Come," he said, forcing himself to slip from Fenris' grasp lest things progressed to the point where the idea of privacy started sounding optional. "Our quarters aren't that far."

They made it as far as the top of the staircase leading to their rooms before Fenris shoved Dorian back against the wall and pretty much molested his mouth.

The low moan Dorian made was completely involuntary, as was the way his hips bucked against Fenris'. He finally managed to tear his mouth away to point out, "This is only mostly private." He was quickly forgetting why that was a bad thing though.

Fenris was pushing into him, making a growling noise. He grabbed hold of Dorian's wrists, lifting them above his head.

Dorian swallowed down another moan and let his head fall back against the wall with a soft thunk. "Point made," he gasped as Fenris nipped at his exposed throat. "Private enough. Carry on."

With both of Dorian's wrists held in one hand, Fenris started pulling at Dorian's straps with the other. "Need to be inside you," he muttered against Dorian's neck. "Now."

" _Festis bei umo canavarum_ ," Dorian half laughed, half whimpered, his entire body shuddering with arousal. "Yes," he said, knowing full well this was all incredibly foolish and not caring one whit at that moment. "Let's make that happen, shall we?"

Fenris had improved in his strap undoing capacity considerably since the first attempt. He was actually making headway with just the one hand. However, still not progress enough as he growled, "What is the use of magic if it can't sort this with a click of your fingers?"

Even that sounded like pure sex to Dorian. "It might take more than just a click of my fingers, but if you'd let me have the use of my hands for a moment, I believe I can assist," he offered, almost as desperate as Fenris seemed to be to get on with this.

Fenris immediately stepped back, letting one of Dorian's hands drop but keeping hold of the other. He was breathing heavily and had an intense expression on his face. "Come on," he said, pulling Dorian by his hand. "Now."

The look Fenris was giving him was positively feral and if anything it made Dorian even harder than he already was. He fumbled at the straps Fenris hadn't been able to get undone, even as he let Fenris drag him along, absolutely positive that if he didn't get himself out of his clothes in the next minute, Fenris was just going to rip them off. And as hot as that would be, this was one of his favourite sets of robes.

It was excellent motivation, however, and soon the last strap gave way.

Fenris had managed to drag Dorian to outside his room, but apparently the sight of a robeless Dorian was enough to put their destination from his mind again. He glowed translucent blue and all his clothing fell to the corridor floor even as Fenris was becoming fleshy enough again to drag Dorian around to face the wall.

He felt Fenris' hands being pushing into his breeches from behind.

As much as he wanted to just lose himself in the primal nature of it all, Dorian made himself concentrate for a moment. "I believe you said something about wanting magic to facilitate getting on with it at the snap of my fingers?" he asked, snapping his fingers and directing a small amount of the grease spell to Fenris' fingers that were currently brushing against the crease of his arse.

With a noise that was practically a snarl, Fenris moved in such a way that Dorian heard his breeches rip. They fell to his feet as he felt Fenris' fingers press inside. "Dorian," Fenris said throatily, " _te amo_."

Dorian was unsure which affected him more, Fenris' touch or his words, but he was suddenly on the brink of coming, biting his lip to keep from crying out. "Amatus," he panted when he'd regained a little control of himself, at least enough to beg at a volume that wouldn't bring guards down on them. "In me... please."

Fenris pulled his fingers out and put his hands on Dorian's hips. "You're too tall," he said roughly. "Move your legs apart more."

Dorian was too far gone to do anything but obey, fingers scrabbling against the wall in an effort to maintain his balance as Fenris guided his movements with the hands on his hips. He knew what he must look like – naked, legs spread and back arched, offering himself like the wanton Fenris made him feel. The thought that someone else could happen by and see him like this should not have made him as hot as it did.

He was rapidly rewarded with what he wanted, the feel of Fenris, hot and hard, pressing steadily inside him. " _Venhedis_ ," Fenris said tightly. "So perfect."

Dorian completely agreed, but could only let out a long, wordless moan as Fenris slid into him. Words, it seemed, had completely left him. They stayed lost to him as Fenris began to move, only able to let out increasingly loud and needy noises each time Fenris pressed back inside.

Fenris wasn't a lot quieter, grunting and groaning with each thrust, which were quickly becoming faster and harder. His hands were gripping Dorian's hips so tightly his fingers would probably leave bruises, the thought of which just spurred Dorian on.

He was a lost in a sea of arousal and stimulation, pulses of pleasure shooting up his spine with every movement Fenris made. Very quickly he was on the edge of coming, but not quite able to tumble over without something more.

And soon enough that something more arrived. It wasn't Fenris reached around to grab and pump Dorian's cock, wonderful though that was. It was Fenris muttering feverishly, " _Te amo, te amo, te amo..._ "

Everything whited out in one overwhelming wave of pleasure, the words ringing in his ears and sinking into his heart.

He was vaguely aware of a cry from Fenris, and then both of them were sinking downward. When his sense reasserted itself, he was sprawled amongst their clothes on the floor. Fenris was with him, leaning his forehead onto Dorian's shoulder, his breath still recovering.

Dorian turned his head to drop a kiss on whatever part of Fenris he could reach and raised a shaky hand to card through Fenris' hair. "That was," he began, discovering his voice was every bit as shaky as his hand. He paused, coughed and tried again. "That was _intense_." Another deliberate pause before adding, "Amatus." Reveling in being able to say it freely as well as in the obvious effect hearing it had on Fenris.

Fenris raised his head and gave Dorian a rather ragged but very warm smile. He lifted a hand to cup Dorian's face and echoed, "Amatus."

As much as he just wanted to bask however, Dorian was acutely aware of their location. "Perhaps we should gather ourselves enough to move the last few feet into my room before we get on with the overly sappy feelings part," he suggested primly. Well, as primly as one could while naked and covered in one's own spend.

Fenris nodded and started gathering up their armour and clothes. standing once he had them all and following Dorian into his room. "I think your breeches may be beyond repair," he said ruefully, letting his armful drop onto the floor.

"I think just this once I can deem them an acceptable sacrifice." Dorian walked over to the small basin he kept in one corner and quickly washed up.

"Hawke has a spell to do that," Fenris commented. "Think the abomination taught him it."

"As do I," Dorian replied, gesturing with his free hand at his face. "How do you think I manage to remain my normal immaculate self while travelling for weeks and sleeping in a tent? But it is nice sometimes to use the real thing when it is available."

"Hmm, well use the spell on me," Fenris said as he flopped down on the bed. He chuckled softly. "If the me I was when I first arrived in Kirkwall could see me now he'd refuse to believe it."

Dorian watched him with what he was sure was a sappily fond smile, casting the cantrip with barely a finger's movement and watching as Fenris' brands briefly flared in response. "I'm fairly certain that if I'd told the you of several months ago when we met that this was where we were going to end up, not only would he have refused to believe it, but I would be missing at least one vital internal organ."

Fenris cast a rueful glance his way. "I hated magic when I first was free. I blamed it for everything wrong in the world. Even now, I can feel that hatred lurking inside me, wizened but not gone. I would that it was."

"Anyone who has been burned badly is likely to fear fire," Dorian said gently, crossing the room and sitting beside Fenris on the bed. "They may learn to respect it, even relish the many ways it can be useful, but there's always going to be that kernel of fear. A burn leaves a scar on the skin. A traumatic experience leaves a scar on the soul. It can heal and fade over time, but chances are it's always going to be there."

Fenris lifted himself up on one forearm, turning slightly to face Dorian. "What are your scars, amatus?"

"Amatus," Dorian repeated, the warmth the endearment brought making him smile in wonder in spite of the question. He reached out to entwine his fingers with Fenris'. "I never thought I'd ever be called that by anyone. Not and mean it."

"It seemed so far out of the realm of possibility that it never crossed my mind to dream of it," Fenris said, gently squeezing Dorian's fingers with his own."But that isn't answering my question." He frowned. "Or is it?"

"In a way." He looked down at their joined hands and wondered if he could talk about this. "My father–" He stopped, swallowed and tried again. "I wasn't–" He couldn't. Not that. He hadn't talked about it to anyone, not even Felix. Talking about it would make it seem more real. He cleared his throat and went far more general. "That is, there were certain expectations my family had for me. To say I was a disappointment would be an understatement."

"Yes," Fenris said with uncharacteristic gentleness. "You've mentioned that before." He tipped his head to one side. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pried."

"No," Dorian countered. "I mean... you should pry. If you want. I just... it's difficult."

"Would it help if I told you of my darkest moment?" Fenris looked down. "You should know anyway. Know... what I'm capable of."

"You don't have to," Dorian said instantly, squeezing his fingers. "I will listen of course to anything you wish to share, but this isn't quid pro quo. You don't have to tell me something you do not wish to in order to get me to tell you about what my father–" His voice caught and he swallowed hard before forcing out, "What my father tried to do."

Fenris looked up, frowning. He reached out the arm he wasn't leaning on to touch Dorian's face. "What did he do to you?"

Dorian met Fenris' gaze, the concern in those large green eyes giving him the courage to continue. "He tried to..." Another swallow. "...change me."

For the first few moments Fenris just stared, looking confused. Then his face fell into a grimace. "You mean by magic, don't you? I shouldn't be surprised. Of course magisters will even use it on their own children in order to get things how _they_ want them. What a selfish piece of... kaffas. Was it blood magic? It didn't work, obviously. Did it do anything at all?"

Dorian shook his head. "He never... I found out before and I–" _escaped_  "–ran." His emotions were the same confusing whirl they always were when he thought about this, made only worse by Fenris' reaction. "My father... he is the one who taught me to hate blood magic," he said. He wasn't sure why he was defending him, only that he didn't want Fenris to think of him like a monster, even with what he almost had done. "The resort of the weak-minded, he used to say. He wasn't... he wasn't Danarius. He just... I just..." He shrugged helplessly. "I wasn't what he wanted."

"Then he was a hypocrite and a fool as well as... as a monster." Fenris sat up and took hold of Dorian's nearest hand in both of his. "You are the closest thing to perfect as I've ever known. That he couldn't see that, that he tried to hack away the bits pf you that didn't fit his plans, that he _hurt_ you... I don't remember my father, but even I know a good father when I see one. Yours? Isn't it!"

It wasn't anything he hadn't told himself over and over, but hearing someone else say it still made him shudder and pulled tears to his eyes. He did his best not to let them fall. "Most would say it was I who wasn't a good son. That I drove him to extremes because I refused to just play my part. Just swallow my pride and marry the woman and produce the next generation of mages. Screaming on the inside the entire time." His gaze had dropped to their hands again, but he forced it back up. "You once asked me to imagine being a slave and being forced to submit to my master's needs and desires. There was a reason it wasn't difficult for me to do."

To his credit, Fenris didn't point out that it really wasn't the same, although Dorian knew he'd have been quite justified to do so. Instead Fenris moved to sit behind Dorian, a leg on either side, and then he wrapped his arms around Dorian in a tight embrace. "Most would _not_ say that. Only fools and magisters would blame the son for the father's corruption. Is it Felix's fault that his father decided to work for a magister darkspawn?"

"Of course not." Dorian let himself lean back against Fenris, relaxing against him in spite of the subject matter. "He didn't... abuse me," he said quietly. "Not like you may have seen in other magisterial houses. Aside from the... from what made me finally decide to leave. It probably wouldn't have hurt so much if he had. It would certainly be easier to hate him. Or at least to stop..."

"Don't hate him," Fenris said very unexpectedly after a pause. "Hate festers. Poisons everything. Just... stop thinking it's your fault. Place blame where it's due and move on." He snorted, the breath soft on Dorian's skin. "It's good advice even if it took me years to take it myself."

Dorian nodded, running his fingers lightly over Fenris' forearm wrapped tightly around him. "I've never told anyone about this before," he admitted quietly.

"I won't abuse your trust," Fenris said, a shiver in his voice.

"I know." In spite of the heavy conversation Dorian found himself smiling, then laughing as another thought occurred to him. "My father would shit his smallclothes if he could see me now."

"Naked in the arms of a freak slave? I imagine so." Fenris kissed Dorian's shoulder.

"You are neither a freak nor a slave," Dorian stated with more heat than he'd intended, but he couldn't regret it.

"Those same Tevinter nobles who would consider you a bad son would also think me a freak slave," Fenris pointed out.

"Yes and didn't you just elaborate at length about how everything they believed was a sack of shit? You. Are. Not. A. Slave. Or a freak."

Fenris chuckled. "I was just underlining my point."

Dorian squirmed around so he could poke Fenris in the chest. "You can do so without spouting absurdities," he said haughtily.

Fenris caught the poking finger and lifted it to his mouth in order to kiss its tip. "Consider this," he said. "If your father had succeeded, there would have been no us. Yet had he not tried, there would have been no us too."

That seemed to put a weight of destiny behind them and what they were becoming to each other. It humbled Dorian, delighting and terrifying him at the same time. But then he thought of something else, and he couldn't keep from laughing. "Driven into the arms of the most handsome and skilled elven warrior in all of Thedas by my father's ill-conceived plan to make me acceptable. He really would shit his smallclothes."

Fenris grinned. "I must remember to thank him, should I ever meet him."

For the first time since he'd left, Dorian had the urge to write home. He could just imagine his father's face when he read everything that had happened to Dorian since. He might even follow through on the urge.

He looked at Fenris and smiled softly, overwhelmed again at the knowledge that he got to have this, that the elf actually _loved_ him. "Thank you."

Fenris smiled, but he looked uncertain, perhaps confused about what he was being thanked for.

Dorian was tempted to just let it go, but his desire for Fenris to know exactly what he was so grateful for was stronger. "For looking past all the bullshit both our pasts have laid on us and seeing the real me." He smiled. "And loving me in spite of that."

"I love the real you," Fenris said, his gaze intense.

Dorian's smile remained, but he annoyingly felt tears welling up in his eyes again. "Kaffas," he swore, shaking his head, and raising one hand to brush them away. "I refuse to turn into a sobbing pile of mush, no matter how much I feel like it. You make me completely unravel, you... you magnificent creature."

"I'd rather make you cry out again than just cry," Fenris said, grinning now. "I suppose I'll have to wait though. Felix will be looking for you soon if he isn't already."

Dorian let out a loud sigh that was only about half-pretend. "I'd say let him wait, but since he's about to be dragged off by Hawke's brother, I should probably make myself available for farewells." He reluctantly started detangling himself from Fenris' embrace, pausing to kiss him before getting up entirely. He quickly got redressed in fresh robes, acutely aware the entire time of the naked elf watching his every move. "Stop looking at me like that, or I'll never make it out of the room."

"Shall I wait here or head to my own bed?" Fenris asked, still grinning.

"You are utterly horrible, and I don't know why I love you," Dorian retorted, feeling a thrill at saying those words even as he feigned annoyance.

"Wait here it is then." Fenris laid back, stretching out sensually on the bed.

"Horrible," Dorian repeated, but couldn't stop himself from going over and stealing one more kiss before leaving.

Fenris curled his hand around the back of Dorian's neck, prolonging the kiss, but then he laughed and let go. "See you later, amatus."

The endearment put a smile on Dorian's face when he left that was so wide he was sure he scared the servants.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which seats prove somewhat uncomfortable..._

Fenris was perched on top of a narrow merlon, part of the battlement above Skyhold's gates. He wasn't watching out for anything in particular, just enjoying the view while he thought about everything that had happened since they'd arrived at the fortress.

His whole life had changed, or at least it felt like it had. Now there was meaning where before there had only been duty or obligation. This meaning, this... significance seemed to infest everything now. With every little occurrence or thing discovered, he now considered how Dorian would react upon hearing of it – would it interest him? If so, Fenris saved up the memory like a little treasure to share with his lover later. If it wouldn't, well, then it was of no interest to Fenris either.

Should he trust this feeling? It was hard not to; it felt very convincing. Was this how Hawke and Anders felt about each other? If so, no wonder Hawke had been unable to condemn Anders for his treacherous actions. The thought of losing Dorian now... It frightened him, what he might become.

" _There_ you are." Fenris turned his head to see Hawke heading along the battlements toward him. "You are a difficult elf to track down, my friend."

He hopped off the merlon to meet Hawke. "It's pleasant up here," he said with a quick smile.

There was a flicker of surprise then Hawke raised an eyebrow at him. "Never knew you liked heights so much," he observed mildly. He glanced out the way Fenris had to be looking. "Can't beat the view though, I admit."

"I think I've spotted where we were when we first saw this place," Fenris said, pointing out and to the left. "There, see? Near that darker outcropping."

Hawke squinted in the direction Fenris pointed. "I think you're right. Good to know. The way things are going, unless I can shake this whole Herald thing, that'll be an important holy place some day."

"Ha!" Fenris grinned. "Maybe you should design yourself a symbol before they do it for you."

Hawke grinned back. "I should track down Isabela and let her design it. That way it'll be guaranteed to be rude and inappropriate." He gave Fenris a warm but assessing look. "You seem to be in high spirits."

"Do I?" Fenris could feel his own smile so any attempt at playing innocent was doomed to failure.

"I'm trying to remember the last time I saw you smile so much, and I'm coming up with 'never'," Hawke told him. "To be honest, it's creeping me out a little."

Fenris rolled his eyes. "I'll endeavour to look more morose in the future, shall I?"

"No, no, I'm sure I'll get used to you not brooding handsomely in the corner," Hawke said, waving off the suggestion with a flick of his hand. "Just a wild guess here, but things are going well with Dorian?"

"Very," Fenris said, knowing he sounded smug. "And, uh, thank you. For your recent advice."

"That's what I'm here for – to help. I'm a helper." Hawke chuckled and shook his head. "You know you're practically glowing. And not in your usual way."

Fenris pulled a face. "You make it sound like I'm expecting a child. I'm just... happy." And he was, wasn't he? That's why it felt so peculiar.

The smile Hawke was giving him turned softer at that. "I'm glad," he said, none of his usual teasing in his voice, and Fenris was suddenly reminded of what he had said to Hawke after their one night together, about how all he wanted was to be happy. He suspected Hawke was thinking of that too. "It's been a long time coming."

"I never expected it to come at all," he admitted. "Dorian is in all ways remarkable."

"Good. You deserve someone remarkable." Hawke paused. "I'm still giving him the Talk though."

Fenris thought about asking him not to, but decided to let it be. It was only fair, after all, considering the conversation he'd had with Felix just before he left for the Storm Coast with Carver. Not that Felix had sounded all that worried, probably because Fenris had already proven his credentials as a serious suitor by requesting advice about tokens.

"Fun for you both," he said instead.

"If it's fun for him I'm doing it wrong," Hawke pointed out. "He doesn't strike me as the type to be scared off, but I'll try to keep it low key anyway."

"I have no concerns about his ability to stand up to you on the matter of me," Fenris said, and there, he was back to feeling smug again. "I do need to ask _you_ a couple of things, however."

"I'm all ears," Hawke said. "Ask away."

"The space under your rooms that you wanted reserved for me when the work was completed. I haven't asked Dorian yet, but I'd like him to share those rooms. _If_ you have no problem with it."

"Why would I have a problem with that?" Hawke asked, looking completely bewildered. "I mean, yes, of course, those rooms are going to be yours. You can do whatever you want, ask whoever you want to share them with you. There aren't any conditions to it, but why do you think I'd have a problem with you asking Dorian?"

"I'm... not sure," Fenris said, frowning. "I was, perhaps incorrectly, seeing myself as the first line of defence should someone breach your tower, and, well..." Considering this was by far the least awkward of the two things he had to ask, things weren't going well.

"Okay, one," Hawke held up one finger, "even if the only reason I wanted you to have those rooms was as a first line of defence, having Dorian with you would be a feature, not a drawback. He's not exactly helpless, after all, and I like the idea of you having someone right there to cast barriers on you as needed. Not to mention shoot a well placed fireball up the arse of whoever is stupid enough to attack. Two–" a second finger joined the first "–I wanted you to have those rooms because you're a friend, and I'd much rather have my friends living close to me than some idiot noble who will test my patience every time I see them. Plus, you already know what Anders and I are like so you won't be scandalised by any unusual noises coming from your ceiling."

Fenris snorted. "So long as you can ignore Dorian's 'unusual noises' in return. However... alarming."

Hawke's eyebrows climbed towards his hairline at that. "What kind of – No, wait, I probably don't want to know. That could make things awkward."

Now Fenris laughed, mentally apologising to Dorian. "Let's just say loud screams don't always mean you're about to be attacked." He mentally apologised again for good measure.

Hawke's eyebrows stayed up, but he also laughed at that. "So things are going _very_ well is what you're saying."

Fenris nodded, grinning.

"I'll ask about adding more sound proofing in the renovations," Hawke promised.

"It would be a shame to rein him in, so thank you." He took a deep breath. "And, uh, the other thing..."

"Oh Maker," Hawke said, looking at Fenris' expression. "This is an awkward question, isn't it? I can tell just by looking at you."

"It might not be for you," Fenris admitted, "but it definitely feels it to me." He ran his fingers over the Amell crest he wore on his belt. "It's about this."

"Ah." Hawke gave him a soft understanding smile. "We never really talked about that, have we? You started wearing it and I... appreciated seeing it on you. Knowing that even though things didn't go the way we wanted between us, we still were... connected somehow. I even think I needed that back then. But I'm older now. I know you're always going to be special to me, and you've said you feel the same way. I won't be hurt if you stop wearing it."

He studied Hawke carefully, wishing he was as perceptive as Hawke himself. "Are you... certain?"

"You're not planning on stopping being my friend when you stop wearing it, right?"

"Never, Hawke," Fenris said with deadly seriousness. "I will always come if you need my skills... or anything else."

"Then we're fine," Hawke said. "More than. We're going to be friends – family, really – whatever you wear or don't wear."

Nodding, Fenris managed a smile, however awkward he still felt. "Thank you. Then both my questions are dealt with."

"So, are you planning to replace my family crest with one of a more northern origin?" Hawke asked with a teasing smile.

"I... hope to. Something of the sort, anyway. I won't emblazon myself with the symbol of a magisterial house for reasons I hope are obvious."

Hawke nodded. "I know I'd worry if you did. But something you create yourself would probably be more meaningful in the end to you both anyway."

"I'm no craftsman," Fenris answered with a shrug, "but the basic design will be mine. It occurs to me, Hawke, that you came up here looking for me. Was there something you wanted before my, uh, smiles disconcerted you?"

"Ah. Yes. Josephine's finally worked out the final details of the trip to Denerim, crossing all the political t's and dotting all the etiquette i's. We leave tomorrow." He hesitated. "She didn't include you or Dorian in the arrangements for the envoy, but if you two want to–"

"I've no particular desire to see Denerim if you have an adequate warrior in mind," Fenris said quickly. It would give him chance to use Felix's letter of introduction.

"Cassandra's coming along," Hawke said. "She's every bit as good as Aveline, if grumpier."

"Then you are well catered for."

"Listening to her and Varric snipe at each other for the entire journey should be entertaining at least," Hawke said with a smirk. "She gets under his skin faster than anyone I've ever seen."

"In a convoluted way, I think I owe her," Fenris said with a slanted smile. "If she hadn't dwarfnapped him, you wouldn't have headed to Haven looking for him, and therefore a great deal that has happened, wouldn't have."

Hawke chuckled. "You really do have it bad, don't you?" he teased fondly. "You and Dorian can send her a fruit basket as a thank you."

Fenris frowned. "Do I... have it _too_ bad? I've no experience... Is this not normal?"

"It's fine, Fenris," Hawke told him, still smiling. "More than fine. It's actually rather adorable."

That just made him frown more deeply. "I am not... adorable."

"If Merrill were here, she'd be cooing over you," Hawke told him.  

He growled. "Don't you have Ferelden kings to be visiting, Hawke?"

"Adorable and prickly," Hawke corrected with a grin. "But you're right. I do have roughly a hundred things I need to do before we leave in the morning. Far too many of which involve paperwork and making decisions. Sitting in judgement, no less. Do me a favour and keep an eye on things when I'm gone?"

"You have advisors far more capable of doing that than I," Fenris pointed out. "But I'll make sure Cullen knows I'm available if he needs me."

"My advisors are good at what they do, but there's only a handful of people I trust one hundred per cent," Hawke said, suddenly completely serious in expression and body language. "I trust you. Not them, not that much, not yet."

Fenris wasn't sure what he was meant to do if 'keeping an eye' led to 'need to do something the rest of the Inquisition didn't want him to do', but he appreciated the compliment. "I'll try my best," he said.

"Thanks," Hawke said and then was all smirking grin again as he clapped a hand on Fenris' shoulder. "I'll let you get back to your adorably happy basking now. I'll see you when we get back."

***

Well, this was going to be interesting.

Varric looked around the main hall of the keep, which was unusually packed and thrumming with conversation. Everybody in Skyhold apparently wanted in on this spectacle. A venatori and a red templar for Hawke to judge, all while he sat on that over the top throne they'd made him, up on the raised area at the end of the hall. He only needed a crown to make the illusion of royalty complete.

But Hawke wasn't a king, and his two prisoners weren't quite what they seemed either. The red templar wasn't actually red, for example. No, he'd merely been feeding the toxic stuff to his men, which in Varric's opinion just made his crimes even worse. And the venatori... well, the case of Gereon Alexius was complicated, to say the least; Varric was glad not to be the one to have to decide his fate. He'd have to keep reminding himself that the dark future the man had sent them to? Never actually happened.

He was just contemplating heading up to the balcony where he could actually see over the heads of the gathered masses when the doors opened behind him, and Dorian walked in. The fact that the man looked immaculately composed and presented only served to emphasise just how brittle he must be inside. Varric nodded at him and gestured him over.

"I was about to head up to the balcony where I can see something more than a sea of human backs," he said once the man was in conversational earshot. "You should think about coming with me, Sparkler. Not only is the view better, but it will make it harder for said view to include you."

"At this point in my life I've become rather used to being a spectacle," Dorian said, all bluster and aplomb, but then his voice softened and grew quieter. "But thank you. I certainly would prefer a bit of privacy."

They made their way up through Solas' chamber and the deserted library and then out onto the balcony above the main doors. Varric rested his hands on the railing, looking out over the swarm of helmets and hairdos. "Hawke's going to have to speak up unless you have a handy amplification spell," he said ruefully.

Dorian snorted elegantly. "Oh ye of little faith, of course I have a handy amplification spell. They're practically a prerequisite for any public speaking back home." He raised his hand and flicked his fingers in an almost casual gesture at the dais at the other end of the hall below. Suddenly the murmurings of the waiting crowd became clear enough that, if Varric closed his eyes, he would think he was standing amongst them still.

"Remind me again why all spies aren't mages?" He asked with an appreciative chuckle. Then he paused. "It's not two-way, is it?"

"Not at all. That would be an entirely different, more complicated kind of spell," Dorian assured him. "As for why all spies aren't mages, back home many of them are. I suspect that the fact historically the South has kept their mages in Circles that are prisons in all but name probably has a lot to do with the lack outside of Tevinter."

He had a point. "Any southern kingdom that could get over itself enough to actually employ mages," Varric said, "would have a huge advantage over the others. It just shows how deep the prejudice goes that few of the power hungry princelings out there have done so." He shrugged. "So talking about the letting go of fear and hatred, where's your spiky shadow today?"

"Fenris? Oh he's... around," Dorian said with an airy wave that was so casual Varric knew immediately there was far more to the elf's absence than Dorian wanted him to think.

"Did he not want to witness this?" he asked, frowning. While he'd understand the avoidance in another man, it seemed out of character for Fenris not to be with Dorian today of all days.

"I... didn't ask," Dorian admitted.

"And then avoided him?" Because Fenris wouldn't have needed to be asked. "Sparkler..." Varric rubbed at his forehead. This was none of his business, he knew, but since when had that ever stopped him? "Why didn't you want him here?"

Dorian sighed, giving up on even trying to deny it. "Given our respective pasts, I suspect we would be rooting for completely different outcomes. I thought it best if I did what I could to avoid that potential disagreement."

Ah. Well, that made a kind of sense at least. Still, wrong though. "Were we talking about the Fenris I knew in Kirkwall, I'd be telling you that you'd got that dead right. But Fenris now, how he's changed with time, and in particular, through your friendship? I think you're underestimating him. If Alexius was nothing to you, then yeah, sure, off to the executioner's block. But the fact that Alexius is who he is means Fenris will want what you want as an outcome here."

"Fenris has more than justifiable reasons for hating magisters and altii, and I will be forever grateful that he's been able to look beyond that enough to... care for me. It would be utterly presumptuous and rude of me to insist that he change his mind about Alexius as well."

Varric sighed quietly and let it go.

"Hawke won't, you know," he said, voice lower as the hubbub he was hearing from below also dropped. Ambassador Montilyet had appeared from somewhere and was standing close by the empty throne. It looked like it wouldn't be empty much longer. "Send him off to the executioner's block, I mean. He doesn't do that to friends. He didn't even let me kill my ass of a brother, despite nearly losing his own brother due to Bartrand's treachery."

Dorian took his eyes from the crowd in front of them to glance at Varric. "He came to me, you know," he confided. "Asked me about the Alexius I knew before all of this. He said he couldn't make any promises other than to listen."

Varric nodded. "Which is fair enough. He has to be seen to be treating this seriously, but I know Hawke. The only thing less likely than executing your mentor would be to make him tranquil. Not gonna happen."

The door they'd entered the balcony by opened with enough noise to draw attention from below. Fenris stood in the opening, his face a picture of emotions in conflict with each other.

Beside him, Varric could sense the way that Dorian had tensed up, losing some of his carefully cultivated mask of calm. "Fenris," the mage said cautiously, watching him worriedly.

Fenris strode over wearing a deep frown. He nodded at Varric, but otherwise all his attention was on Dorian. "I've been searching for you, and all the time you were here."

"I–" Dorian hesitated, then visibly deflated. "Yes, I suppose I was. I needed to be here, for Felix's sake if nothing else."

"I know that!" Fenris said testily. "That's why I was looking for you." Then his bad temper seemed to just fall from him like it was nothing; he looked down. "I'm sorry. You don't want me here. I... understand. Perhaps you will find me later, if you want to talk." He turned to leave again.

Dorian made a sound of distress in his throat and reached out, grabbing Fenris' arm then immediately letting go. "Wait. Please."

Fenris did as he was bade, actually looking up at Dorian now. His expression of distress that now formed was a near perfect mirror of Dorian's. "I wanted to be here for you," he said quietly, "but not if it will just make things worse."

"Of course I want you with me. I just don't want you to feel..." Dorian swallowed. "A magister that misused his power is being judged, and I am hoping he is shown leniency. With everything you've been through, I know that can't be your hoped for outcome. I don't want this to become something you resent me for..."

"I don't care about Alexius," Fenris muttered fiercely. "I care about _you_. That's my only–" He stopped talking as the voice of Josephine called for silence, and he frowned. "Why's she so loud?" he asked, dropping his voice still lower.

"Amplification spell." Dorian held up his hand and wriggled his fingers demonstrably. "Like they use in the Magisterium."

Varric took his attention away from the pair to look back over the balcony. Hawke had appeared from somewhere while Varric's head was turned. He was stepping close to Josephine to talk in a low voice... that of course they could all still hear perfectly clearly.

"It would be bad form if I ran screaming from the room right now, wouldn't it?" Hawke asked, while his face remained remarkably composed. "What if I fell down and passed out? Just a little?"

Josephine's sigh with the very definition of patience being tried. "Inquisitor..."

"I know, I know. This is important. All right, no running away or fainting. But I still might throw up in the middle, just so you know."

Varric moved a little to make way for the other two as they came forward also to watch. "I wonder who's first from the dungeon."

His question was answered when he heard the main doors open below them. A small troop of Inquisition soldiers cleared a path to the throne, which Commander Cullen then strode down. As Hawke hurriedly took his seat, Cullen spoke in a voice almost certainly loud enough for them to hear in the balcony even without Dorian's handy spy spell. The Commander was a man used to having to make sure he was heard across a drilling square.

"Knight-Captain Denam, Inquisitor. He awaits judgement for serving the Lord Seeker at Therinfal Redoubt." His voice lowered slightly as he added, "I knew some of the knights that died there. I asked to oversee his sentencing."

Beside him, Dorian made a thoughtful noise. "And here I was just wishing to myself that we would've started with the important judgment. It's distressingly easy to forget that not everything is about me and that even things I have little interest in are personal to someone. I feel like I should apologize to Cullen the next time I see him." Varric noted that sometime in the last minute, Dorian had taken Fenris' hand in his own.

"You would only confuse him," Fenris pointed out as the prisoner was hauled up the hall in chains and unceremoniously dumped at the foot of the platform. The man struggled back to his feet.

"Denam knew the dangers of red lyrium," Cullen said, his voice rising again. "He murdered the Knight-Vigilant and corrupted his brothers and sisters."

Hawke leaned back where he sat, hands steepled in front of him, looking every bit the imposing ruler. If Varric hadn't heard for himself Hawke's nerves moments before he never would have believed that he had any doubts about these proceedings.

Hawke's voice when he spoke carried almost as well as Cullen's had. He was definitely playing to the audience. "A templar who has earned the mistrust not only of mages, but of his own comrades in arms," he pronounced. "I trust the prisoner is lucid enough to understand what he's done."

Denam briefly looked up. "I only did as I was told!" He sounded petulant and somewhat nervous.

"Ah, the age old excuse of idiots everywhere," Varric said, rolling his eyes. "They never learn."

Cullen was clearly having none of it. "We found everything – the corpse of the Knight-Vigilant, even papers proving you _knew_ red lyrium was poison."

"There is a greater power walking this world." Denam's chains clanked as he waxed criminal. "I wasn't fool enough to deny it. None of you would have! I demand justice!"

Varric chuckled, thinking it would serve the man right if he got what he demanded, but he couldn't see Anders anywhere in the hall. "So obeying the biggest bully in the room justifies everything, does it?" he asked rhetorically.

"It's a type," Dorian said. "You see it often back home amongst the lesser talented. They look for who they think is going to be the most powerful and become their toady. Encountering those sorts always made my fingers itch with the desire to throw fireballs."

Hawke leaned forward and pinned the man with a steely gaze. "I didn't suffer at your hands. That was your brother and sister knights in the templar order. You demand justice? So be it. True justice is letting your punishment be chosen by those you have wronged. Let the remaining templars judge the man who failed them."

Denam started backing away rapidly, catching his guards by surprise, although they stopped him quickly enough. "The penalty will be death," he said, his voice breaking. "They can't! Not after what I've seen."

Varric nodded with satisfaction. "Good decision, Hawke, my friend."

Hawke ignored Denam to turn his attention towards Cullen. "Commander, please make sure the Templars know that the Skyhold gallows is at their disposal. I suspect they will be finding a use for it soon."

Varric saw Cullen nod. "Thank you, Inquisitor." The Commander bowed his head in Hawke's direction before turning with military precision and following his men and their prisoner out of the hall.

"Well, that was quick, at least," Varric commented.

"Alexius will be next," Dorian observed, all of the tension that had left his frame during Denam's judgment visibly flooded right back in. The hand that was not entwined with Fenris' clutched the railing of the balcony in a white knuckled grip.

Josephine stepped forward again and announced, "You recall Gereon Alexius of Tevinter. We hold a declaration from King Alistair of Ferelden ceding the judgement of this man to the Inquisition. The formal charges are apostasy, attempted enslavement, the abduction and murder of numerous tranquil, and attempted assassination – of your own life, no less."

As she spoke, Alexius was led into view somewhat more gently than Denam had been. Whether that was in deference to his age, ex-rank, or the fact he could blast his guards to all the way to the Black City were there not templars around, Varric wasn't sure.

"Tevinter has disowned him and stripped him of his rank," Josephine continued. "You may judge the former magister as you see fit."

Hawke looked at Alexius for a long moment. When he spoke his tone of voice was far less confrontational than it had been with Denam. "Apostasy is such a vague charge and one I'd be a hypocrite to pass judgement on, all things considered. Shall we amend that to nearly ripping apart time at the seams?"

"Offending the laws of Maker and man?" Josephine suggested, clearly trying to make Hawke's words a little more formal sounding.

Hawke made a face at that. "Considering how many times I've been told that's what I'm doing, I'd prefer not to set a precedent for something that vague. Let's stick with specifics, shall we?" He turned his attention back to Alexius. "However we phrase it, these are serious charges, the attempt on my life being the least of them. We at least were engaged in something that if you squint could be considered fair combat. The free mages you attempted to enslave and the tranquil you had killed were not."

"I admit everything," Alexius said, speaking clearly if not quite calmly. "My crimes are numerous and unforgivable."

"Wasn't expecting that," Varric muttered, unable to stop himself glancing to the side to see how Dorian had taken it.

Dorian was standing up a little straighter than he had been and was staring down at Alexius, mouth open just a little bit. His expression wasn't so obvious as to be called surprised, but Varric thought that had more to do with how well Dorian could hide his emotions than anything else.

"My only defence is that everything I did," Alexius continued, enunciating clearly, "I did in order to save my son, a defence I realise that few would find as compelling as I. I failed, of course, and I now realise that was only just, considering my crimes. You, Inquisitor, succeeded where I failed, and I will spend the rest of my life, however short that may be, grateful for your actions, and that you did not condemn Felix for the foolishness of his father. Do with me as you will, Inquisitor. I accept your judgement, whatever it is, without complaint."

Varric knew he couldn't possibly be alone in his wide-eyed, open mouthed response to that little speech. Of course, it was likely that all magisters were skilled orators, but Alexius had spoken plainly, without flourish or any playing to the gallery. He really meant what he said.

He heard Dorian breathe a very soft, "Oh Alexius," almost under his breath and glanced at him to see him watching with eyes that were suspiciously bright, unshed tears catching and reflecting the light.

Hawke stared at Alexius for a long moment and even Varric couldn't tell from his expression what he was thinking. "Your crimes, Alexius, are serious. I cannot ignore the damage your actions could have caused, any more than I can the lives lost at your orders. They may have been tranquil, but they deserve their justice as much as anyone.

"But I have been in a similar position, faced with watching a beloved family member succumb to the blight. I know the kind of pain and despair that can cause because I've lived it. I was lucky enough to have a warden at my side to offer a solution, but I know that, if I hadn't, and someone with less pure intentions had offered me another way, I would have been greatly tempted to take it no matter what it entailed. That kind of desperation is a form of madness and that must be taken into account. It does not remove responsibility for your crimes, but it does make them more understandable. And with understanding can come a second chance to make things right."

Varric could hear Dorian make a small wordless sound in the back of his throat at that.

Below them Hawke continued. "Your magic was theoretically _impossible,_ Alexius. That kind of brilliance is not something I would see wasted. Your sentence is to serve, under guard, as a researcher on all things magical for the Inquisition. Let's see if you can't come up with something that will save lives instead of end them."

Varric was torn about which way to look. He saw Alexius stagger back and heard him manage to stutter out a bare thank you. He clearly hadn't expected Hawke's idea of apt justice. But then Varric had to turn to the side to see how Dorian was reacting.

Dorian looked poleaxed, staring down at the proceedings below them, disbelief practically hanging around him in a cloud. He caught Varric looking at him and started sputtering. "He just– Can he actually– Is he _serious_?"

"Told you," Varric said with what he privately admitted was a smug grin. "Family is a big deal to Hawke, and that man down there is family to you."

Said man also seemed genuinely penitent, something that also went a long way with Hawke, which might explain why the sentence was actually even more generous than Varric had been expecting. He hoped they all didn't live to regret it.

As the guards below removed Alexius' manacles, the man stood up straighter, and almost as if he'd heard Varric's thoughts, he said, "You will not regret this mercy, Inquisitor. This I vow."

Dorian let out a disbelieving laugh. "The most I had dared hope for was that Alexius got to keep his life and magic. This..." He shook his head, another chuckle bubbling out.

Varric snuck a glance at Fenris, but he was smiling slightly, watching Dorian, and if he had opinions about the judgement, he certainly wasn't letting them show.

"If you ask me, this calls for a drink," Varric said to the pair. "Especially as we're heading out tomorrow."

"It calls for more than one, I should think," Dorian replied. "I'll even buy. But first I best see if I can sweet talk our dear Sister Nightingale into letting me borrow a message bird to send to Felix."

Varric nodded. "I doubt she'll require much sweet talk. I'll see if I can grab Hawke and anyone else wanting to share the fine wine you'll be buying us and meet you there." He winked and headed off, intending to take the route through the cellars that led up to a door a lot closer to where Hawke was still stationed.

***

"Clearly I need to put on weight," Anders said, fidgeting in the saddle. "My arse is far too bony for this."

"You think you've got problems?" Varric asked, and he had a point. He'd been given a mount that matched his stature, which meant short and not all that slender. Which was all well and good except it meant he was practically doing gymnastics to be able to sit upon it, and it was constantly having to trot to keep up with the others, bouncing him up and down on... bits that really shouldn't be bounced up and down on.

Cole didn't look much more comfortable perched on the saddle of his horse, though he seemed to be distracting himself by having a conversation with it that involved an awful lot of talk about various types of grass.

"We're not exactly cavalry material are we?" Hawke observed wryly, although he sat on his horse like he was born to it. "And I've been telling you for years you need to eat more, love," he said to Anders. "Maybe we should ride more if it means you actually listen to me."

"Bring on the five course feasts!" Anders told him fervently.

Cassandra made a noise of what sounded like derision from the other side of him. She herself rode with great precision and an upright stance. "If we're the cavalry, the war effort is doomed," she said.

"This lot on horses? Not a great idea," Hawke agreed. "Someone remind me of this the next time Josephine starts waxing poetic about how the Inquisitor needs to make an impression riding in on a noble steed."

"You should have a grand carriage or even a war chariot," Anders suggested. "Pulled by a brace of dragonlings. Or an alpha wyvern; that could be fun!"

Varric snorted. "Would it come with a driver that made funny noises and danced about to steer it?"

Hawke rolled his eyes. "How about I just ask for a high dragon to use as a mount?"

"Oh, now you're just being ostentatious, love." Anders grinned at Hawke.

"I have a reputation to live up to," Hawke shot back. "Apparently. I blame Varric."

"Yes, blame the dwarf. It's all his fault, as usual," Varric said with a level of causticness unusual for him. The whole riding experience was getting to him, Anders decided.

"Perhaps a break soon?" he asked Hawke in a quieter tone.

"Maker, yes," Hawke said heartfelt, looking over at Anders instead of shooting worried glances Varric's way. He pointed up ahead to a wide open field next to the road. "That's as good a place as any."

Cole perked up at that. "Maybe there'll be rabbits!"

"Yes, they make a nice stew," Anders told him. "With the right herbs anyway." Over their time in exile, he'd become quite the cook using the bounty that nature provided.

"It's not time for meal preparation," Cassandra said. She was frowning when Anders snuck a look at her, but she didn't argue about stopping beyond that comment.

"I don't think we'd want to turn any rabbits Cole finds into a nice stew anyway," Hawke said, and the frown Cole had started to make at the mention of stew instantly disappeared. "This isn't a meal stop, Cassandra. It's a my arse is sore, and I'd like to be sure I can still walk stop." He gave her an apologetic shrug. "The drawbacks of travelling with those of us who aren't used to riding."

Anders silently promised himself that while he'd agree not to turn any pets Cole claimed into food, he'd have no such compunctions about cooking rabbits that he himself found. A rabbit wasn't a proper pet anyway, not like a cat.

Or a dog, he added, having caught a glance of Giddy, happily trotting along beside Connor's horse.

He slipped gratefully off his own mount as they turned into the field, handing the reins over to one of the soldiers accompanying them, which was a nice luxury. He went immediately to help Varric from his fat pony, using the cover of the help to give the dwarf a little healing. He got a grateful if rueful smile in return.

"Thanks, Blondie."

Hawke walked over to join them, wincing a little. "I promise I'm going to abuse my Inquisitor powers to make sure we either have a wagon or carriage or something for the ride back, or we use our own feet. I'm done with horses after this."

"Rubbish," Cassandra said, close behind him. "It only takes a few days to get used to the saddle _if_ you have the right saddle and the right horse beneath it. You and I, Hawke, are riders of enough experience to choose the right mount. Anders and Varric had horses chosen for them. In Varric's case, this was a disaster. The horsemaster clearly has no experience with dwarves."

"Careful, Seeker," Varric said, giving her a sideways look, "that was almost sympathetic."

She tsked. "That pony is bad enough, but your saddle is ridiculous. I don't know what the man thought he was doing."

"That would have been much more helpful information to have pointed out before we got halfway across Ferelden," Hawke said with a sigh. He looked at Cassandra. "Don't suppose you have any ideas on how to improve the 'disaster'?"  

"Had I realised it, of course I would have said at the time," Cassandra said, frowning at Hawke.

"It's true," Anders agreed. "It was just Varric and me there."

"Nonetheless, short of a saddle made especially for him," Cassandra continued, "which is what he really needs, I suggest he takes Scout Harding's pony and saddle for now. She can take his back to Skyhold together with a sharply worded message from me."

"Aw, I can't do that," Varric said. "She's really been looking forward to seeing her family in Denerim."

"Unlike you, Scout Harding is an excellent rider. I've no doubt she'll have returned to us before we reach the city."

"If she misses any of her visit time by having to go back, I'll just grant her leave enough to stay longer. Maybe she can bring back a cushion for Anders' saddle while she's at it," Hawke teased, sliding an arm around Anders' waist, his hand just happening to land on his arse. He nodded at Cassandra. "An excellent suggestion, Seeker. Thank you."

She nodded seriously. "I... am sorry, Varric. I should have foreseen this problem, and I didn't."

"Hey, Seeker," he replied with a gesture of open hands. "Much though I'd love to pin the blame on you for the torture of my nether regions, no can do. You can't micromanage everything."

Hawke made a face. "And now I have pictures in my head I would have been quite happy never thinking about, thank you."

Cassandra made that noise she always made to accompany her expression of disgust, and strode off in the direction of Scout Harding. Anders watched her go before turning to Varric.

"Did she?" he asked.

"Did she what? Oh. No! Andraste's blushing butt cheeks, to use a suitable obscenity, your mind, Blondie, is pure smut."

"In Anders' case, that is a benefit, not a drawback," Hawke said, giving Anders a lascivious wink. "At least for me."

Varric rolled his eyes. "So that was what Justice was obscuring all these years, a mind to match Isabela's."

Anders frowned, but not at the dirty mind talk. "Justice is still here, you know."

"Yeah?" Varric asked. "Not seen much sign of him since we settled at Skyhold."

"He's just busy, that's all." Anders rubbed at the crease between his brows with a finger. "Keeping Corypheus out."

Hawke's arm around him slid up his back to rub at the back of his neck in a comforting manner, not a massage so much as an unspoken promise of one. "I thought that had levelled off. Has it grown... bad again?"

"It's fine," Anders replied, but then he realised how distracted he sounded and actually met Hawke's eyes. "As far as I know, it really is fine."

He could feel the tension in Hawke's muscles subtly easing at that though nothing changed visually. "That's good," he said softly. "The next time he's paying attention, tell Justice thanks from me."

"You two not talking?" Varric asked.

"We're not two people sharing a room," Anders said with a further frown. "It's only recently have I been able to say for sure which of us a thought is coming from. Before it was only when things got... all blue and glowy that I knew Justice was 'on top'. So to speak."

"The differences between you have been getting more distinct for a while now," Hawke offered. "For instance, Justice doesn't crack bad jokes. When you started having a sense of humour again, that's when I knew things were getting better."

He looked uneasily at Hawke, realising not for the first time just how difficult his unique circumstances had been for his lover. "You're an astoundingly patient man, love," he said ruefully.

Hawke gave a half shrug. "'Patient' isn't a word usually used to describe me," he said, a wry smirk pulling his lips upwards.

"Stubborn and steadfast, single-mindedly determined," Cole's voice popped up, the spirit boy suddenly standing in between Varric and Anders. "Hands holding, grasping, gripping, refusing to release." He looked at Hawke. "Too pigheaded to know when to let go, that's what your mother said. But that's not it. You're just smart enough and strong enough to know when you have to hold on. You make yourself the sheltering stone in the storm." He smiled ever so faintly. "That's why they keep making you the Protector."

"He's not wrong," Anders said, smiling. "In fact, I'd say he read you like a book, and not one of Varric's."

"Hey!" Varric glared at him.

"Come on, you're the first to admit you apply a bit of creative license to the truth."

"To put it mildly," Hawke said.

"I like your stories," Cole told Varric. "Especially the one about Guard Donnen."

Varric sketched a bow at him. "You and the rest of Thedas, kid. Well, except for Orlais for some reason." He shrugged and then rubbed ruefully at his behind. "What I wouldn't give for my upholstered chair in the Hanged Man right now."

"Is it true that Dwarven warriors sometimes ride giant nugs into battle?" Anders asked curiously.

Varric shook his head. "Really not the right dwarf to be asking, but... I doubt it? I'm prepared to believe there are giant nugs out there somewhere, maybe with the Avaar as rumour suggests, because why not? But Warrior Caste dwarves riding them through the Deep Roads? Not so much. Too many narrow passageways connecting the great halls."

"Shame," Anders said wistfully. "Just imagine riding into battle on one. We could have a troop of nug-mounted cavalry surrounding Hawke in his wyvern-pulled chariot... Red templars and venatori alike would turn tail and run."

Hawke chuckled.

"And one dwarf doing just fine on his feet at the back, thank you very much," Varric added.

"You'll feel differently once you have a proper mount and saddle," Cassandra said, having returned to them. "For now, you have Scout Harding's, which will help."

"I owe her a crate of those dried deep mushrooms she likes." Varric said with a nod at the seeker. "The spotted ones. Maker knows what she sees in them. They taste like Ferelden farm dirt and look like something worse." He sighed. "I suppose I'd better go see about changing over packs."

As he wandered away, he heard Anders say behind him, "If he means the mushrooms I think he means, I'm not surprised he hates them. Strictly for female dwarves only, they are."

Varric decided he really didn't want to know.

***

Now where, Fenris wondered, did you find an Antivan diplomat when she wasn't in her office? He'd seen her in the garden at least once before. Maybe he should try there.

He strode down the great hall, heading for the door that led through.

"-last time, Revered Mother, I cannot give you a more accurate date for the Inquisitor's return." The Ambassador's voice came from the opposite direction and Fenris turned to see her walking on the other side of the great hall, Mother Giselle at her side.

"I understand," Mother Giselle replied, "but the matter is of a rather timely nature. I do not know if it can wait that long."

Ambassador Montilyet stopped and turned to face her. "Perhaps it is something I may be of assistance with then?" she asked, the patient way she said it making it seem to Fenris like it wasn't the first time the offer had been made.

Mother Giselle sighed, but seemed to capitulate. "It seems I have little choice. Are you able to arrange to have assignments given to certain individuals? I have it on good authority that one of the people who has... attached himself rather closely to the Inquisitor needs to be at a specific location at a specific time."

"That would depend," the Ambassador replied. "Who are we talking about?"

"That Tevinter." The word held more than a hint of distaste, though it was obvious Mother Giselle was trying to hide it. "The Pavus boy."

"He's hardly a boy," Fenris said, quickly inserting himself into the conversation. "Neither is he a leech. I'd watch your words if I were you. Where does Dorian need to be, when does he need to be there, and why?"

Mother Giselle visibly startled, her eyes widening just a little when he recognized Fenris. But other than that she maintained her composure. "Lord Fenris," she greeted him. "My apologies, I did not mean any disrespect. I have received a letter from the young man's family. They acknowledge that they have made mistakes in the way they dealt with their son and that they are much to blame for his estrangement. They wish to make an attempt at reconciliation and have asked for my help in getting him there."

"No," Fenris said, point blank.

"Forgive me," she said, bristling. "But I do not think that is your decision to make. I was hoping to talk to the Inquisitor about–"

"Hawke would say the same." If he knew what Fenris knew anyway. "Show me this letter."

She frowned at him, but reluctantly handed over a folded piece of paper, embossed with a vaguely familiar symbol that he assumed was the House Pavus coat of arms.

He did his best to read it. The script it was written in made that hard however. There was definitely something about a meeting, something about a 'son' being too proud, something about danger. Was this a threat? It was signed by Magister Pavus, that much he could see because the name was printed under the scrawl.

"I will resolve this," he said, making no attempt to return the letter.

"If I may make a suggestion," a gentle voice said, and Fenris was reminded that the Ambassador was still standing beside them. "If the letter is asking for Dorian's presence, perhaps it should be given to him."

Mother Giselle turned her frown onto the Ambassador. "They did not want him to be informed. They felt the animosity that they are trying to resolve would prevent him from agreeing to come."

"All the more reason for the letter to be given to him," the Ambassador said firmly. "If they truly wish to reconcile he needs to be told. That is not the kind of thing that ever goes well when it starts with deception."

As Fenris had just been considering attending this meeting to remove the father problem without Dorian ever knowing, he now felt a welling up of some uncomfortable emotion. "I'll find him now," he said ruefully. "You're right. It's his choice to make."

Ambassador Montilyet gave him a kind smile and then distracted Mother Giselle when she looked like she was about to protest, allowing him to make his escape without any more talk.

It wasn't difficult to find Dorian; he had settled into a routine of sorts and this part of the day he could almost always be found down in the old library, cleaning and cataloguing the contents. Today was no exception and he came upon Dorian humming happily to himself as he carefully went through a stack of ancient looking tomes.

"Amatus," he said quietly, drawing attention to himself in a way that hopefully wouldn't give Dorian a fright.

Dorian did startle a little, but when he looked up and spotted Fenris, he smiled widely. "Oh dear," he said, stalking like a predator over to where Fenris was standing by the door. "Have you grown so addicted to me that you couldn't pass an entire afternoon without my presence? I can't say I'm surprised. I am after all utterly enchanting and completely irresistible."

"You are both those things," Fenris said, holding up his free hand to stop any embrace. "But that's not why I'm here, or not the main reason at least."

Dorian stopped just out of arm's reach, his welcoming smile fading to a concerned frown. "Is something wrong, amatus? You look... unsettled."

"You, uh... You should read this." He thrust the letter forward. "I'm sorry."

If anything, Dorian's expression became even more alarmed as he reached for the letter, but once he got a look at it, his face went completely blank. He was silent longer than it would take for him to read the whole thing, then his gaze flicked up to meet Fenris'. "Did you read this?"

"I tried. If Mother Giselle had had her way you would have been led to this obvious trap completely unknowing."

"That woman really doesn't like me," Dorian observed. "Considering some of the other people she doesn't like though that puts me in good company. But before we talk about this, you should know exactly what it says so..." He looked down at the letter and quickly, in what was obviously an attempt at an emotionless tone but not always a successful one, read the letter out loud to Fenris.

"'I know my son'," Dorian quoted when he was finished, obviously incensed. "What my father knows about me would barely fill a thimble."

"What do you want to do?" Fenris asked, feeling very uncertain about what he should be doing here.

"I'd like to just rip this up and forget it, but that would be a bit too close to sticking my head in the sand and pretending everything bad will just go away. No, I'm going to have to go and meet with this retainer, I think." He started pacing as he continued talking. "If it's legitimate, I tell them to tell my father he can stick his alarm in his wit's end, and that'll hopefully be the end of it. If it's a trap, we escape and kill them all; you're good at that!" His pacing paused and he asked hesitantly, not quite looking at Fenris. "That is... will you come with me?"

"Of course. I'd insist if you didn't ask." He walked close enough to touch Dorian's bare shoulder. "Are you... all right?"

Dorian blew his breath out in a long sigh. "Honestly, I'm not entirely sure. I've always known it's always just been a matter of time until my father tried to reach out. As much as he might wish otherwise, I am his only child. To completely disengage would be... difficult no matter how much of a disappointment we are to each other. So I knew he'd be in contact eventually. Just not now." He paused as if to take inner stock. "I'm better than I thought I would be."

"Good," Fenris said. "I won't let him hurt you, Dorian."

That finally got Dorian to look at him. "I can protect myself, you know," he said with a ghost of his usual self-assured smirk, but the look in his eyes belied the confidence of his words.

"Against your father?"

"I will point out that I've escaped him before. Besides, it's not my father we'll have to deal with, just a retainer. A hireling. I wouldn't even have to break a sweat."

"If you believe the letter," Fenris said grimly. "It still screams trap to me."

Dorian moved closer to him, giving him a genuine smile as his hands came to rest on Fenris' waist. "You are really incredibly suspicious, aren't you?"

He shrugged and then half-smiled. "I was a good bodyguard."

"You're good at any number of things having to do with bodies," Dorian told him, glancing at him from under his lashes in that teasing way he had.

Fenris laughed, bringing his hands up to Dorian's face. "You know, that letter led to me forgetting why I'd been hunting down the ambassador in the first place. I'd heard a secret shipment arrived yesterday."

"Seems it wasn't quite secret enough," Dorian observed, raising an eyebrow artfully. "Do we know what was in this secret shipment?"

"No," Fenris admitted, "but I heard it 'clinked interestingly'."

"That sounds promising indeed. I suppose I can be persuaded to leave off my work here for the afternoon and help you gather more information on this clinking shipment," Dorian said, sighing as if it was a huge imposition.

"If we're setting out for the Hinterlands again tomorrow, then we assuredly need something of quality before we go," Fenris said.

"Indeed. And then perhaps we make appropriate use of a bed since it'll be back to tents and bedrolls for us for the next few nights at least."

"You are wise." Fenris grinned, suddenly looking forward to the rest of the day.

***

The camp had mostly settled down for the night. People's thoughts were quieting as they drifted off to sleep just as much as the noise of them moving around and talking had quieted.

Cole found it different here than it was at Skyhold; there were so many people there, so many comings and goings, that there was always some fear or pain happening, some hurt Cole could hear, that drew him close to try to heal. He liked that, he liked being able to help, that there was always something for him to do. But sitting here, listening to sleep soothe and silence whatever worries his companions had, he liked that too. There was something satisfying about knowing that sometimes the hurts would heal themselves, even if he wasn't around to help.

Besides the quiet was peaceful, letting him concentrate more on his own thoughts and body – the way the wind brushed against his face, or the warmth of the fire on his skin. That was good too, in a way he was still learning.

He knew when two of the others woke – Anders and Justice. Always awake together or asleep together. Everything together, only not. They didn't love together, or laugh, or lust. He heard the noise as they came out of the tent they shared with Hawke.

"Hello, Cole," Anders said softly. Justice didn't speak much.

"Hello," Cole replied. He cocked his head to the side as he listened, but there wasn't any new hurt coming from Anders. He smiled slightly. That was good

"Does your body not need to sleep?" Anders asked as he helped himself to the scrapings left from the evening meal.

"No? I never have. Not since knowing I was me." He regarded Anders and Justice curiously. "Did Justice need to sleep before you were joined?"

Anders shook his head. "Sleeping is something a body does. Justice didn't have a body when I met him."

"Spirits don't sleep," Cole agreed. "Humans touch the Fade when they sleep. That might be why they sleep. Spirits are always touching the Fade in a way, even when we're out of it. So sleep isn't as important." He frowned. "I'm not sure why dwarves sleep though."

"Mages touch the Fade all the time too," Anders said thoughtfully as he sat down near Cole, "and Hawke now has a key to it on his hand. He still sleeps though. He eats too, but you don't. It's like your body is only half-real."

Cole held up a hand and looked at it; it looked and felt like it always had. "It's real," he said. "I'm real. I'm just a spirit too. I remember the Fade, and that's enough to let me move like I do. Maybe it's enough for the rest as well."

"It certainly bleeds like a normal body." Anders was remembering healing Cole after fights. "Forgive me, if I'm being too nosey. It's just, whenever I see you, I can't help wondering if Justice could do the same thing."

"I'm... not sure how I did it," Cole said softly. Whenever he tried to think of when he became Cole his thoughts were muddled, as if someone had tried to make _him_ forget. Maybe he'd done that to himself as part of it, he didn't know. "I came through to try and help. I couldn't and he died. But there was a wish, a want... I couldn't save him so I became him. What he wanted to be. I think. It's hard to remember."

Anders nodded, finishing the food he'd scavenged. "It's very interesting. After all, even humans are just bodies animated by our spirits. I've never really been clear on what the difference is between our spirits and spirits like you or Justice. I mean the Chantry waffles about demons and things, but really, what is the difference?"

Cole frowned, trying to understand enough to answer the question, to explain. He wasn't sure if he was able. "Humans are... complicated," he finally settled on. "They're a little bit of everything. Spirits aren't."

"You are. Now."

"No, not really. I help. That's all I do. All I am." It was when he had forgotten that that he'd got into trouble. Became other. _Demon_. A shiver went through him. Not again. Never again.

"But you are," Anders insisted. "You have a human body now. So you're a bit human. You can feel what we feel, not secondhand through us, but via your own hands and senses."

"Yes." Because hadn't he been thinking that earlier before Anders and Justice joined him? "But that doesn't change what I am. Who I am. Me."

Anders chuckled. "Of course not. Humans may need a body to walk around in down here, just like you do, but we are not our bodies. We are us."

"Yes," Cole agreed, a thought whispering to him as Anders spoke."You almost forgot that once, let the screams from the blood that stains the City of Chains drown you out." He understood what that had done to Justice, that it had warped him for a time like Cole had been warped. But it had happened to Anders too and that was... more complicated. Like humans.  

He felt a wash of ugly emotion from Anders in reaction to his words. "I... _we_ nearly lost ourselves completely. I blamed it on my darkness corrupting Justice, but that wasn't precisely the cause. I suspect it did leave us open, vulnerable to the real darkness, however." Anders sighed softly and shook his head, staring at the grass as he continued.

"I've always been open to the Fade; I was a spirit healer before I ever met Justice, but I was strong, always resisted demons. I found resisting them easy, didn't know what all the fuss was about, really. I accused templars of fabricating the risks in order to enslave us." He snorted softly as if amused, but he wasn't really. "In Kirkwall, the evil was harder to recognise because it was everywhere, like a fog, making it harder to discern anything at all, impossible not to breath it in with every breath..."

"Silent screams sing in the spaces between words, whispers wounding as they wind around and through, what _was_ making what _is_ so much worse than it could be. Should be. Vices found a voice, debauched depravity feeding and festering, foiling that which would fix it. Like a rock rolling down a hill, too much force to stop." The words poured out of Cole as he tried to grasp the situation, shivering slightly as he reached out and touched that place far away that had turned so many efforts to help and heal into new hurts. "It took what was dark in you and made it darker," he told Anders. "That's what it does. To everyone. And everything. It needs to be fixed, to be cleansed, but it would take so much more than one person trying to heal the hurts to do so."

He met Anders' gaze. "You tried though. You poured all the healing and hope you had into trying. It just wasn't enough, but it matters that you tried. To those you saved it meant everything. And when the darkness drowned you, you had someone save you. That matters too."

Another emotion welled in Anders now, swirling with the guilt and pain. A good emotion, gratitude – for being understood, for not being blamed. "Thank you," he said quietly. Then another emotion still – relief – upsurged. Justice was there, listening, and Anders had been trying not to worry, but Justice had been so very quiet, and what if...? But he was here now. "Justice thanks you too," Anders said with a smile.

"You're welcome," Cole said, smiling back, happy he had been able to help. It wasn't always easy with a hurt as big as that which Anders carried, and it was always much harder when he couldn't just start over if he got it wrong, so there was an added satisfaction in getting it right.

It made him want to keep trying. "I can sense him," he said to Anders. "Justice. I think I would be able to sense if something was wrong too. If you're worried and don't want to try to ask him, you can ask me."

"Thank you," Anders said again. "Even when he's quiet, I know he's there, because otherwise I'd have Corypheus singing 'you're going to die' in my head. Or worse. But I worry it might be getting too much for him... which he denies. Still though."

"Making Wardens think they are dying before their time is wrong. It's an injustice. Justice can't shield all the Wardens but he can shield you. Stopping Corypheus from controlling you is the right thing, the just thing to do. It makes him feel like I do when I help – happy and hopeful, satisfied and strong. He wishes he didn't have to because he does not want you to be under attack. But it is no strain that he has to. It is his purpose." He paused. "More, you are his friend. That makes it mean even more."

Anders smiled. "You're nice to be around, you know?"

"Most people are scared of me, if they remember."

"Most people are scared of spirits getting in their head. Not me." The smile became a grin.

Cole smiled back, feeling something warm in his chest. It felt like it did when he helped, but more somehow. "You're nice to be around too."

Anders laid back in the grass, putting his hands behind his head and staring up at the stars. "Do you like cats?"

"Cats swat my feet even when no one can see me," Cole said.  

"Do they? Interesting. I've often wondered if they could see the Fade. It would explain a lot. I had a warden cat once. Well, sort of. He came with me to the Deep Roads and attacked darkspawn and everything."

"Ser Pounce-a-lot," Cole said, the name and image so clear in Anders' mind because the hurt of losing him was still strong. He concentrated and reached out, smiling a little when he found what he had been hoping he would. "He likes the name you gave him. He remembers even now. Sometimes he pretends the mice he catches are darkspawn."

"He's still alive?" Anders turned to look at Cole, his eyes wide and his head full of delight. "That's wonderful. My friend must have looked after him well."

"Yes. First, for you, and then for him."

Anders smiled, and although he turned his head to look back up at the stars, he wasn't really seeing them. Instead, his mind was full of a small orange cat laying waste to a legion of darkspawn mice.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which Ferelden provides more than one adventure..._

Dorian couldn't shake the feeling, as he and Fenris made their way into Redcliffe, that he was willingly putting his head in the noose.

He honestly didn't think his father would have authorised them to do anything violent to him, but there were ways to restrain a mage that required little or no violence. He wasn't sure if his father wanted him back enough to sanction any of those methods. There was a time when he would've been certain, but that was before he'd discovered his father's plans to use blood magic on him. Now, he wasn't sure of anything.

"Are you all right?" Fenris asked. He was in his constant vigilance mode, scouring the surroundings and the people they passed for any sign of a threat.

"All right may be too strong a description, but I am holding up," he replied, giving Fenris what he was sure was a strained smile. "Having you here helps. I've never had an actual bodyguard before. I'm finding it unexpectedly reassuring."

"Unlike the people of Redcliffe," Fenris answered dryly. He was right; they were giving the pair a wide berth.

"I may have mentioned this before, but you're supremely good at glowering," Dorian pointed out with a more natural smile.

"It's a useful skill to have. I win many battles without ever fighting them." Fenris shot him a quick and slanted smile. "If there are any Tevinter in the crowd, they are well disguised."

"I haven't spotted any either," Dorian said. "It makes sense though, considering it's not that long ago that Alexius took over the castle and attempted to claim the free mages for the Venatori. The local population would not take kindly to random Tevinters setting up camp here again. I expect I would be getting much more venomous looks myself if not for your... discouraging effect."

Fenris paused as they reached the monument in the centre of the village. "Do you want to take some time before we head to the inn?"

Dorian took a deep breath. "I'd be lying if I said no, but it's probably best to get this over with. It's not going to get any easier by putting it off."

Fenris nodded. "Stay close when we go in."

Dorian laughed nervously. "Believe me, that isn't going to be a problem."

He led the way up to the inn door, but it was Fenris opened it and went in first, sword out, looking around and then gesturing with his head for Dorian to follow him.

It was dim enough inside that it took a couple of seconds for Dorian's eyes to adjust, but the absolute stillness was obvious right away. The place was deserted. "Uh oh, nobody here," he said nervously, trying to swallow down the huge ball of anxiety he was feeling. "That doesn't bode well."

He became aware of Fenris bristling in an almost catlike way just before an all too familiar voice spoke from the side of him. "Dorian."

A whole maelstrom of emotions that went through him then, but Dorian did his best to keep them off his face. "Father," he acknowledged, turning to face him, pleased that his voice remained steady. He moved his head to look at Fenris. "I owe you an apology. Apparently my father isn't above lying about a retainer to get me to come."

Fenris raised his sword and stepped in front of Dorian. "If you so much as even think of using magic," he growled at Dorian's father, "I'll know, and you'll be out cold."

Dorian had the feeling he should be appalled at what Fenris was doing, that it seemed like an overreaction, but with what almost happened last time, all it did was make him feel safer than he would have felt otherwise.

He placed a hand gently on Fenris' back, not restraining though it probably looked that way to his father, but just a point of contact. "What is it that you want, Father?" he asked, though he made no attempt to move past Fenris' protective stance in front of him.

His father looked rather taken aback at the sight of Fenris. "Dorian, I assure you that you're in no danger from me, here or anywhere else. There's no need for–" he gestured with his hand rather uselessly, indicating Fenris "–personal guards?"

Fenris snarled. "I stay."

"I– Very well. I hoped we could talk."

"Talk?" Suddenly all of his emotional turmoil coalesced into a single feeling – red hot anger. "What can we possibly have to talk about? You've already told me to get out and that I was no son of yours. You've made it abundantly clear to me that I am nothing but a disappointment. I can't envision anything that I could say that would change that."

His father sighed. "We both said regrettable things. I certainly regret those things I said."

"What about the things you did?" Dorian shot back. "Or tried to do? Do you regret that too or just that it didn't work?"

His father's gaze flickered to Fenris. "Dorian, there's no need to–"

"He already knows!"

Now his father looked horrified. "You'd tell a– It's a family matter!"

"A what?" Fenris asked, the edge in his voice sharp enough to cut hardened leather. "An elf? An escaped slave? His _lover_?"

"He is, you know," Dorian said. He wasn't about to deny Fenris, especially not to his father. "All of those things. I won't hide the fact that he's my lover, just like I wouldn't hide who and what I am. What I _have_ hidden is what you tried to do to me." He paused, his anger faltering a little under the disappointment and disillusionment of child betrayed by his parent. "You taught me to hide what is shameful and that... that is shameful. You tried to change me!" His voice broke on the word change and he could feel the hot tears in his eyes. "I wasn't your son; I was just your fucking legacy!"

His father took a step backwards, perhaps inadvertently. "Dorian, please, if you'll only listen to me–"

"Why?" he asked bluntly. "What could you possibly say that would fix what you did? Do you even understand why I'm hurt? Or am I just being unreasonable and inappropriate again? What would have been a reasonable and appropriate reaction? Was I just supposed to smile and happily let you perform blood magic on me? What if I had and it had destroyed my mind instead of just changing who I am? Would I have been acceptable finally if I was nothing but a drooling vegetable?"

"I only wanted what was best for you..."

Fenris barked with angry laughter. "Can you hear yourself, magister?"

"What's best for me?" Dorian laughed, the sound ugly. "If you'd gone through with it, even if it had worked, I wouldn't have _been_ me."

His father's eyes closed. "I know. I can't even remember now why it seemed a good idea." He looked up again. "If I'd known I would drive you to the Inquisition..."

"You didn't," Dorian all but snarled at him. "I joined the Inquisition because it was the right thing to do. Once I had a father that would've known that." This was going nowhere. All it was doing was opening wounds that in some ways had barely healed over. He didn't even know why he was standing here subjecting himself to it anymore.

He turned to leave, trying to ignore the tiny voice inside his head that said by doing so he was giving up.

When his father spoke again, his voice was quivering so much he sounded twice his age. "Once I had a son who trusted me, a trust I betrayed. I only wanted to talk to him, to hear his voice again, to ask him... to forgive me."

That stopped Dorian in his tracks. In all the years that they'd been fighting over this, his father never once acknowledged he was wrong. He certainly never asked for forgiveness. That he was doing so now stirred to life embers of a hope Dorian had thought he'd given up on. He turned back around and stared at his father for a long moment. Then he looked at Fenris.

Fenris' eyes widened as if the last thing he'd expected was to have a say on what happened next. He shut his eyes momentarily and sighed. "When my sister came to me in Kirkwall only to betray me to Danarius, I wanted to kill her. Hawke and Varric together persuaded me not to because family... matters. I've not seen or spoken to her again, but I'm... content she yet lives."

Trying to ignore the pang he felt for hearing something else horrible that had happened to Fenris, Dorian thought about his words instead. Like it or not, family did matter. Beyond that, somewhere inside Dorian there still existed the little boy who had never doubted that he had been loved, and had wanted nothing more than to make his father proud.

He stepped past Fenris for the first time, squeezing his arm in mute thanks as he did so. He stopped directly in front of his father and searched his face for a long moment. "I don't know if I can forgive you," he said finally. "You didn't just betray my trust, you shattered it. But... it helps to hear you admit it."

"Perhaps in time..." his father said sadly, but despite his tone, he was managing a tentative smile. "Your... friend is right, and it took these months of you gone who knows where for me to realise it, for my sorrow to overwhelm my stupid pride. _You_ matter more than social standing or... or any of that nonsense. So much more."

Dorian closed his eyes, holding back tears as he savoured those words. If his father had said that to him when he'd been younger, it would've meant everything. Even now, it soothed something inside of him that had been wounded and bleeding a very long time. "Thank you for saying that," he said softly. "It doesn't erase the past, but..."

"I know. Dorian, will you stay awhile? Sit down and talk? Your friend would be welcome too. We're heard such wild stories about what's been happening here. Your mentor, did he really...?"

His father was making an effort – far beyond what Dorian had ever realistically thought he would. Dorian wasn't about to let it be said that he didn't make an effort in return. "What you have heard probably isn't half as insane as what has actually been happening," he finally said to start the conversation. He let his father guide them all to a table and sit down as he talked about the past few months.

It wasn't like old times. Dorian didn't think things could ever be like they once were, the spectre of what his father had tried to do would always loom large enough to make sure of that, but it was something.

And something was more than Dorian had thought he'd ever have with his family again.

***

"Look around," Varric said as they walked their mounts through the gates into Denerim's market district. "At least half the buildings here are new, and those that aren't have been restored in a big way. Alistair's been subsidising the rebuilding; he has to have been. There's no way Kirkwall will look as good after the same amount of time has passed. Not unless it gets itself an Alistair of its own."

"I'm aware that I'm treading on very dangerous ground with what I'm about to say," Anders started, "but Kirkwall needs to be torn down, the land beneath it hollowed out, and a century's worth of cleansing spells sent into the hole."

Varric turned in his saddle to give Anders a glare of disbelief.

Hawke coughed once. "Not saying Kirkwall doesn't need more than just physical rebuilding, but do you really want to tell Aveline we're going to tear down the city she's spent the last decade protecting and holding together? I don't."

"You make a good point," Anders said.

Varric decided to ignore him for now.

Cassandra said, "Is it really that bad? Surely if the community worked together..."

"It's not just a case of rebuilding," Hawke said. He glanced over at her. "How much time did you spend there when you went dwarfnapping?"

"I think it was about fifteen days. I'd arranged to meet Leliana, so we had to wait for her. It gave me time to convince Cullen to join, so the delay turned out to be a good thing."

"For some," Varric said, half under his breath.

Hawke nodded. "You weren't there long enough to feel it then."

"Feel what exactly?" Cassandra asked as she glanced over a stall selling armour.

"The spiritual toxicity levels," Anders said.

Varric humphed. "Look, I'll grant you Kirkwall has had more than its fair share of lunatics, dangerous or otherwise, but don't you think your insistence on there being some kind of curse on the place, Blondie, is just your guilty conscience speaking? I was born there, lived there most of my life. Am I committing wanton acts of mass destruction? No, and I'm not going to."

Anders seemed to wince, but he didn't back down. "Some of us are more open to spiritual auras than others."

"The stones sing there," Cole said, appearing on a pack horse at Varric's side, or maybe he'd been there all along; it was hard to tell with the kid sometimes. "Not like the red does, not that loudly, but they do sing. Too much blood spilled, too much pain given, too much sadness. It leaves a mark. And over that, echoes of the Elder One's whispers linger still. He slept there for so long, his presence sank into the stone just like everything else."

Great. So his home city really _was_ a mire of evil residue. It was hard to argue with an empathic spirit about spiritual realities.

Varric sighed heavily. He really hadn't wanted to believe those scraps of paper and other documents they'd found over the years. Whenever Anders or Hawke mentioned 'the curse', he always poked at the idea and then quickly dismissed it. He didn't want to believe that his city, which he loved, could be the villain of the piece. "There has to be way to fix it that doesn't involve finishing the destruction already begun."

"There is," Cole said. "You help. Not just one person, but many people. Make enough noise to drown out the screaming."

He was just one dwarf. He couldn't undo centuries of wrong by himself. Sighing again, he glanced longingly at the inn they were just passing, but he kept going.

"There's a great magic shop down there," Anders said. "Or there was, anyway. 'The Wonders of Thedas' – it had all sorts of goodies."

"Yes, but did it have a centuries old mummified owner who keeps golems and urchins on the staff and who delighted in being as creepy as possible to his customers?" Hawke asked.

"It was staffed by tranquils. I, uh, hope they're still there," Anders replied.

Varric found himself wondering if Xenon had been shaped by the spiritual poison too. It could explain a lot. He sighed again.

"It's true," Cassandra said as they rode their mounts into a maze of smaller streets, "King Alistair and Queen Elissa have been making great progress here. I've heard that the alienage has been completely opened up, and any kind of anti-elf sentiments are frowned upon by royal decree."

"They've been very sympathetic to mages too," Hawke put in. "Ferelden gave shelter to the free mages, after all, although considering what happened, Alistair might be regretting that decision. Hopefully not irrevocably, if so."

"My experience of the man?" Varric said, "You're fine so long as you're not a witch of the wild. Or an evil magister."

Silence reigned as they negotiated some twists and turns, and then they emerged into a more open area again. 

"I wonder if the king has heard from Queen Elissa?" Cassandra said a little pensively. "He wouldn't say where she'd gone when Leliana asked him, which is strange considering they're old friends."

"I've heard she often goes off on her own," Connor said. The boy had been so quiet that Varric had all but forgotten he was with them. "She's still Warden-Commander."

"A woman who carries many titles," Hawke said. "I would very much like to meet her and not just to trade embarrassing stories about Anders."

"Pretty much the first thing she did after we met – once all the killing invading darkspawn was done with, of course – was to save me from an annoyingly persistent templar. Admittedly, it was by recruiting me, but she's all right in my book anyway." Anders paused briefly before continuing. "They all were really, even the crazy elf. The bastards came later, when the Warden Commander was off elsewhere."

"Isn't that always the way? You think you have things under control, turn your back for one minute, and find yourself up to your arse in templar bastards again. Worse than rats or spiders that way." Hawke paused and glanced at Cassandra. "No offence."

"I'm not a templar," Cassandra said dryly and not for the first time. "But I'll convey your lack of offence to Ser Barris when we next see him."

Varric chuckled to himself. There had been no sign of her sense of humour when they'd first met, or maybe he had just been too traumatised to see it then. Whatever, he liked her deadpan delivery.

Hawke grinned and tipped his non-existent hat to her. "I probably should just offer Ser Barris an apology every time I talk to him for insulting templars. I'm so used to bad mouthing them that I don't even realise I'm doing it any more."

"King Alistair was a templar before he was a warden," Connor offered.

"I know," Hawke said, turning a softer smile on Connor. "I'll try not to insult him by proxy to his face, I promise. If it helps, I have met the man before briefly and didn't manage to start a political incident. I felt like we bonded actually. Over, ironically enough, insulting Kirkwall's Knight Commander."

"The one who turned into red lyrium or Commander Cullen?" Connor asked.

"Meredith. Back when she was less red and more irritating."

"Did she have the Kirkwall curse?" The lad had clearly been listening during that part of conversation.

"Maybe," Varric admitted grudgingly, "but more importantly she had red lyrium, which she bought from my idiot of a brother."

"I suppose we should count our blessings," Hawke said. "At least the Red Templars we're facing now haven't done anything insane like bring statues to life to attack us." He paused. "Though let's try not to have any fights near any large pieces of sculpture, just to be on the safe side."

"At least it gave us the opportunity to rid the city of those eyesores," Varric pointed out. "Definitely not wanted in the new, more cheery Kirkwall."

"If I had my way, that whole place would be gone," Hawke said with some venom. He paused and his gaze slid over to Varric. "The Gallows. Not the city."

"That's fair enough. It definitely has too much history of the bad kind." Varric said. Then he noticed a huge building becoming visible as they walked their mounts around a bend in the road. "Hey, is that the palace?"

"It is," Cassandra said. "I hope we'll be welcome."

"Josephine worked her magic, so we should be," Hawke said.

"He knows we're coming," Cole put in. His tone of voice changed as he continued, and Varric imagined he could hear echoes of Alistair's voice in it. "Yes, yes, I know. Boring official welcome first. I'll do it. I won't like it; I'm sure he won't like it, but what does it matter what I like? I'm only the king, after all. You'll get your official greeting ceremony, but after that I want to meet with him privately, and I don't care whose feathers get ruffled by that."  

"Sounds promising," Anders said. "I think. So long as he's not blaming us for Redcliffe, anyway."

"So Varric," Cassandra said suddenly, "Am I to understand you... travelled with King Alistair?"

She'd waited until _now_ to ask him that? "Yeah," he said slowly, "but I'm not at liberty to talk about it much. Isabela roped me into it; Foolishly, I said yes. If I'd known in advance what it would involve..."

"And what was that?" Hawke asked. "I never got told any details, just letters informing me you were off gallivanting. Isabela's were even more vague."

Varric shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. "It was... interesting. Involved arishoks and magisters, crows and dragons, and that's pretty much all I can say about it."

They had by that time reached the gates, and Hawke was forced to break off the conversation to identify himself to the guards. He got a quick salute, and the gates opened for him with all due speed. They left the horses with the Inquisition scouts at the palace stables and were escorted inside to a great hall, filled with assorted nobility and other important looking personages.

Alistair sat waiting for them on one of a pair of thrones at the end of the room. He looked different in his regal attire. In fact, looking around the chamber, it was hard not to wish they'd been given a chance to wash up and change out of their travel clothes.

"Presenting Inquisitor Hawke, Herald of Andraste, and his retinue," a man in livery announced. He looked frustrated, as if he'd like to have gone the full Orlesian on the announcement, but Hawke had been very firm.

Hawke might have hated noble etiquette, but he could do it when he needed to, and, like everything else Hawke did, do it with style. He crossed the hall and swept down into an elegant bow. "Your Majesty," he said. "Thank you for agreeing to see us."

"Your Worship," Alistair returned with a slight smile. "In a time where the world is in danger, it behooves all of us to work together. Also I understand I have you to thank for kicking a Tevinter invasion force out of Redcliffe. Saved me the trouble of taking an army there to do it myself."  

"He closed a bunch of fade rifts on the approach here too," Anders pointed out in his 'helpful' voice, which Varric had long since learnt was rarely anything of the sort.

"Howdy, O King," he said, giving Alistair a little wave.

Alistair's face lit up. "Varric! No one told me you were going to be part of this envoy." He looked around. "Am I going to be ambushed by Isabela as well?"

"As far as I know, Isabela is off playing admiral somewhere, thanks to her ill and not so ill-gotten gains. Not that I'd be entirely surprised to see her leap out from behind your throne right now. It's been that kind of year."

A small cough came from behind Varric.

"Ah, where are our manners?" he said. "Allow me to introduce the Lady Cassandra, late of the Order of Seekers, the late Divine's Right Hand, founder of the new Inquisition." As she bowed formally, he went on, "the tall mage that isn't Hawke is Anders, who would probably rather I didn't give him any titles, and, of course, you know Connor Guerrin, who is rather hoping his parents will be around somewhere, I think." Cole, it seemed, had vanished again.

Alistair smiled warmly at Connor. "Indeed they are," he said, then pointed to the side of the dais at a well dressed and heavily bearded older man who stood with the rest of the king's advisors. "I didn't know you were coming, or I'd have arranged for Isolde to be here as well. Go on, no need to stand on ceremony, I know you haven't seen each other for a while."

Connor sketched a messy bow, said, "Thank you, Your Majesty," bowed again and walked hurriedly off towards the man who was obviously his father.

"Your Majesty," Cassandra said haltingly, "we have much to talk about. Perhaps there is somewhere less... open where we can do so?"

"Yes, Lady Cassandra, I think that can be arranged." Alistair looked back to Hawke. "Would you like some time to settle in before we meet to talk in private? Or are we talking 'why are we still sitting here mouthing empty platitudes at each other, time is of the essence' levels of urgency?"

Hawke grinned. "It is rather urgent, Your Majesty, but the world is only _trying_ to end. It's not actively ending just yet."

"Maker," Alistair muttered half under his breath. "All right. My seneschal will escort you to the rooms prepared for you, and I'll stop by after I finish with the empty platitudes in front of the court part of my day."

***

Dorian had been abnormally quiet since they had left Redcliffe. He'd ridden silently, eyes distant as his attention was focused inward and had only nodded in agreement when Fenris had tentatively suggested they make camp for the night.  

Fenris gave him his space; Dorian had a lot to process, after all, but once the camp was set up, a haunch of butchered ram roasting by the fire, Fenris sat down beside Dorian and waited.

Dorian's gaze did slide to him when he sat, but then focused back on the flames. "Should've taken a couple of bottles of wine from the bar when we left," were his first words since they'd stopped, accompanied by a sound that was probably supposed to be a chuckle, but fell a little short.

Fenris swore inside his head. Seeing Dorian like this was... difficult. He unhooked the silverite flask he'd taken to carrying from his belt and passed it over. At least he could help with more physical needs. He was at a loss how to handle Dorian's emotional state. Oh, he understood it well enough, just, well, he'd never really learnt the art of dealing with his own emotions when they burned hard and sharp, had he?

Dorian blinked in surprise at the offered flask, but took it nonetheless, uncapping it and taking a long drink, coughing a little when he finished. "Thank you," he said, voice a little hoarse. Another quick glance in Fenris' direction. "For the drink and for... before. I know your instinct when faced with a magister is to kill first and ask questions later. I appreciate your restraint."

"I do have a little self control these days," he replied sardonically, but then he sighed. "Dorian, what do you need right now? For me to be quiet or distracting? Touch or to be left alone? You only have to say, and it's yours."

"I wish I knew," Dorian replied with another attempt at a laugh. It still fell short, but maybe not as much as the last one. Fenris preferred to think so at least. "I'm not even sure what I should be feeling, truth be had."

Fenris took a risk and took hold of Dorian's nearest hand. "You could try talking about it," he suggested. "Reliable sources have assured me it can help."

"Hawke?" Dorian guessed, sounding more like his normal self for a moment. "Or Varric? Probably both, now that I think about it." He threaded his fingers through Fenris' and let out a long sigh, his manner becoming more sombre again. "I'm not sure if I can forgive him," he admitted.

"Then don't," Fenris told him bluntly. "There's no good reason why you should. What he tried to do _was_ unforgivable."  

"It would be easier if I could just hate him. If he had tried to clamp me in chains and drag me back to Tevinter to try again I could just hate him with a free conscience. It would devastate me all over again, but it would be less... bewildering."

"Just because you can't forgive him doesn't necessarily mean you have to actively hate him. I– I don't really know anything about families, but... Varric despises his brother, yet always makes sure Bertrand is comfortable and doing as well as he can. When I first met Hawke and his brother, Carver was twisted up with jealousy and resentment at Hawke. But as soon as either of them were in danger, the other was always first there. You don't have to like your family for them to be important."

"I did when I was a boy," Dorian offered. He looked down at their joined hands. "Like him. He was... I wanted to be just like him when I grew up. Make him proud."

"Instead you're better than him, and judging by what he said in Redcliffe, he knows it."

Dorian's gaze flickered up to Fenris face. "You're biased," he pointed out.

"Doesn't mean I'm not telling the truth." Fenris smiled lopsidedly at him. "You have more integrity than anyone else I know. And I mean _anyone_."

Dorian's eyes had already dropped, but those words pulled them back to Fenris' face and this time he did not look away after a few seconds. "You mean that," he said, voice soft with wonder. "Even with all the people you know and all that I... you mean that."

"I do."

"You..." Dorian stopped, shook his head, then leant across the small space separating them to place a gentle kiss on Fenris' lips. "You say things like that, and you rob me of speech."

"Obviously not," Fenris said with a chuckle, "but that's good as you're meant to be talking." Having said that, however, he couldn't resist another attempt, curling his hand around the back of Dorian's neck and pulling him in for a longer kiss.

When the kiss finally broke, Dorian rested his forehead against Fenris' and sighed. "I'm beginning to think talking is overrated."

"Distraction as a method also has much to commend it." Fenris combed his fingers up into the back of Dorian's hair.

Dorian's eyes closed to half mast at the touch, and then he chuckled, the sound this time warm and fond. "You called yourself my lover right to my father's face. Have I told you lately how magnificent you are?"

"I probably should have allowed you to be the one to announce that. My apologies." Fenris smiled ruefully.

"No, that moment was everything I could've asked for," Dorian insisted. "Much better coming from you. Made it sound much less like I was boasting."

"I was. Boasting, that is. Among other things." He kissed Dorian again before adding, "I want the world to know."

That earned him another wondering look. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm actually asleep because this – you – seems too good to be true." He chuckled again. "The hole in the sky and the darkspawn magister intent on destroying the world help with that; it's all far too crazy to be a dream." He kissed Fenris and smiled at him besottedly. "So this must all be real. I get to have this. Have you."

"And I get to have you," Fenris said and laughed. "Repeatedly and deeply."

Dorian laughed again, the sound low and dirty. "Say that in front of him the next time you meet my father and I will pay you whatever you want."

That made Fenris grin. "You can pay me with your skilled mouth, and I'll say that in front of him too if you like."

"Please do," Dorian said, and he sounded much lighter than he had since Fenris had approached him with that letter. "Indeed, I think this might just be the solution I was looking for. As an appropriate punishment for trying to change me, we rub my father's face in the fact that he very much did not with every chance we get."

"Perfect," Fenris said with what Hawke would no doubt call an evil grin.

It earned him an absolutely filthy kiss from Dorian, that somehow ended with the mage straddling Fenris' lap. "Thank you," Dorian said again, looking down into Fenris' eyes, fingers toying idly with the Fenris' hair at the back of his neck. "I can't imagine how I would've dealt with today alone, but I am fairly certain it would not have been well."

Fenris let his hands slip around Dorian's arse and tried not to think about Dorian turning up to that trap encounter alone. "Always take me with you," he said. "Wherever you go."

"Always," Dorian breathed. He leant in as if for another kiss, but stopped just shy of their mouths touching. "Amatus," he murmured, and Fenris felt the air from the word brush against his lips like a kiss itself.

***

"Ha! If old Greagoir could see me now," Anders said, looking around the room, part of the suite given over to Hawke and his entourage. It wasn't so much the luxury of it since he'd been getting used to that in Skyhold. It was the fact that this was the Royal Palace in Denerim, and he was an honoured guest here.

Well, the life-companion of the honoured guest anyway.

"Somewhere Carver is having the urge to scowl even more than usual and doesn't understand why," Hawke said with a smirk as he sprawled on a expensive looking couch, dropping his staff on the floor beside him.

"We've definitely come up in the world," Varric agreed, rummaging through the various bottles that seemed to have been left for them on a silver tray on the ornate sideboard. "Whether that's a good thing in the long term remains to be seen, but in the short term–" he snatched at and lifted up a bottle in an 'ah-ha!' motion "–it's a very good thing indeed. Huntsthorn White Shear!"

Cassandra made a disparaging noise through her nose. She was perched on a chair by a even more ornate writing desk and didn't seem to be appreciating the privilege of being here at all.

Hawke raised an eyebrow at her. "Accommodations not to your liking, Seeker?"

"We are not here to enjoy the decor, Herald." She sighed. "No doubt if Leliana were here, she'd be more appreciative, but I... am not suited to pomp and circumstance. I never was, even as a child."

"Hmm," Varric said as he filled small cut glass vessels with the White Shear. "That suggests the tale I heard about you being Nevarran royalty is true."

She pulled a face. "Seventy-eighth in line for the throne is hardly royalty, and thank the Maker for that."

"Closer to it than any of us," Hawke said, gesturing at the others in the room. He grinned teasingly at her. "Josephine's been trying to hammer into my head that following etiquette is important. Should I start calling you Princess Seeker?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Don't you dare."

Everyone chuckled. Well, everyone but Cassandra.

"Relax, Cassandra. Nobody's going to try and put you on a throne." Hawke paused. "Unless maybe you want to take over the court sessions I'm meant hold on that monstrosity they've set up in the great hall back at Skyhold..." Anders was almost positive he was still joking.

"No one would take any judgments I might make seriously, and so they shouldn't," she said. "I'd almost be as bad a judge as I would be a princess."

"Why do you say that?" Varric asked, frowning. "Not the princess bit – I have to agree with you about that; frills and jewels on you? Wrong, so wrong. The thing about people not taking your judgements seriously, I mean."

She looked uneasily at him. "You, of all people, know how quick I can be to jump to conclusions. Too quick."

"In combat, Seeker, the ability to _not_ stand about waffling and wavering is far from a failing," Varric said, still frowning. "Decisiveness is not a flaw."

She screwed her face up, peering at him as if confused, but all she said was, "Hence why I am better suited to a sword and heavy armour than matters of court, any court."

Hawke was darting a speculative gaze back and forth between Varric and Cassandra. Before he could say anything else though, there was a brief knock at the suite's door, which opened revealing King Alistair.

"As you were," Alistair said before any of them could begin to react to his presence. "One thing I hate about being king is how everyone feels the need to jump to their feet when I walk by, like someone had just shot lightning up their arse. Makes you start feeling guilty just walking into a room after a while."

"At least no one _has_ shot lightning up their arse," Anders said, aiming for amiable. "You can plead not-guilty on that count, at least. I'm not sure how anyone could shoot lightning up someone else's arse anyway, thinking about it. It's not the easiest of stuff to aim so precisely. Some gymnastics would be required from the unlucky participant too."

He smiled, still trying for friendly.

"We should work on that," Hawke said, not standing up, but straightening from the lounging sprawl he had been in. "I can think of a few people that could only benefit from a lightning bolt up their arse." He turned to Alistair. "Thank you for giving us your time, Your Majesty."

Alistair grimaced. "Please. You call me 'Your Majesty', I call you 'Your Worship', and we waste time and breath on titles that could be used talking about relevant information. In private, I'm just Alistair and you're Hawke – or do you prefer Garrett?"

Hawke gave him what looked like a genuine smile. "About the only one who ever used my first name regularly was my mother. Hawke's fine."

"Hawke it is then." Alistair turned to Anders, his expression a bit more serious. "After we heard about what happened in Kirkwall, Elissa made me promise to offer you sanctuary if you ever turned up on our doorstep." He looked from Anders to Hawke and back. "It's fairly obvious that isn't something you're in need of right now, but since I hate making my queen frown at me, consider this your official offer of sanctuary if and when you should ever need it."

Anders opened his mouth and then shut it again. Really, that had been the last thing he'd expected. "Thank you," he managed in the end. "I wasn't sure if after... well, so many things. Well, thank you."

"Shocking erudition there, Blondie," Varric said with an evil grin to match. He offered Alistair a glass of spirit. "Care for some of your fine liqueur, O King? We can toast to the loss of that fine beard you were sporting last time I saw you."

Alistair laughed at that. "That was not exactly the words Elissa used to describe it when I got home."

"Trust a dwarf for beard compliments," Hawke threw in. "Even if that dwarf is Varric."

"She's not been gone long then," Anders said, pondering the timeline of events as he understood them. "Leliana must have only just missed her."

"This journey, at least. It's not the first one she's undertaken for this project of hers," Alistair said, turning suddenly more serious. "It's something that's she's been working on for some time, but that has recently become much more urgent." He paused as if weighing whether to continue, then sighed and said, "She's researching a cure for the Calling."

"Because she's hearing it," Anders said. "And so are you. It's not real, you know."

Alistair stared at him for a moment and then slumped a little, letting out a breath of relief. "We had our suspicions, but worried we were just clinging to denial. Neither of us were ready to be done."

"It's Corypheus," Hawke said. "He's shown in the past that he can exert control over Wardens, and somehow now he's made every Warden hear the Calling." He met Alistair's gaze. "Though I have to say, yours and the Queen's reaction to it is probably the most healthy and sane one we've encountered so far."

Alistair smiled a little. "That's Elissa – throw certain death at her, and she just gets more stubborn to prove you wrong."

"I remember," Anders said with a fond smile. "I don't know how much you will have heard about Corypheus, but you will have heard all about the Architect, I'm sure. Corypheus is like the Architect, only totally dragonshit insane... and oh Maker, why haven't I considered that before." He stared worriedly at Hawke. "If Corypheus is unkillable, does that mean...?"

"One unkillable darkspawn problem at a time," Hawke said firmly. "We focus on the one that's currently trying to destroy the world. Any others can wait their turn."

"What exactly are the other wardens doing?" Alistair asked with a frown. "I haven't heard anything, and now that I think about it, that in itself is worrying."

"Being complete idiots," Anders said, "generally speaking."

"We know that they're up to something," Varric added. "They've all disappeared off somewhere, having decided the Calling is real. Senior Warden Stroud tried to tell them not to be so stupid, but they refused to listen. Now he's vanished too. Last seen heading out to try to find them."

"My brother's a warden who's only an idiot part of the time," Hawke said. "He was working with Stroud, and now he's tracking down leads trying to find him or the other wardens and figure out just how bad this whole thing is."

"If there's anything I can do to help, just ask," Alistair said.

Hawke nodded. "Nothing I can think of right now, but I'll keep it in mind."

"Right." Alistair took a deep breath and visibly decided to move on. "So Grey Warden idiocy aside, I would love a firsthand account of just what in the Void was going on in Redcliffe and how you stopped it."

"Believe it or not, the answer to both those questions comes from Tevinter," Varric said. "You knew about the bad guys, of course, but maybe not who helped Hawke make it all right again."

Alistair's eyebrows went up. "This sounds like it's going to be a story about your cousin."

Hawke blinked and looked at Varric. "Cousin? You have a cousin in Tevinter?"

"He has a cousin who's a magister," Alistair said. "Surprisingly nice for one too."

Hawke blinked again. "There's a... dwarf magister?"

"She's a cousin by marriage," Varric said, taking a seat. "I've never mentioned her because, well, until recently the topic of Tevinter was a hot one amongst certain of us. She's good folk though, and helping us did her no favours." He looked pissed off about that. "Anyway, the story doesn't involve her. Or a magister. Or at least, not a good magister. There's one of the usual kind, of course."

"There's a Tevinter cult," Hawke said. "They call themselves the Venatori. They work for Corypheus. They – or at least the guy who was in charge of them in Redcliffe – were messing around with time magic, which, yes, is apparently a real thing." He grimaced. "Way too real."

"The magister tried to make it so that Hawke had never existed. Our Tevinter friend, Dorian Pavus, interrupted the spell, and Hawke, Dorian and I were sent into... well, what the future would have been had we not been able to make it back." Varric leant forward, elbows on knees. "Believe me when I say that Hawke continuing to exist is the single most important thing this world currently needs."

"Stopping Corypheus is the most important thing this world currently needs," Hawke corrected. "I'm just the guy leading the charge."

"And the only person who can close Fade rifts," Anders pointed out.

"Like it or not, Hawke," Cassandra put in, "you are essential."

"So you're like the lone warden during a Blight?" Alistair guessed. He gave Hawke a lopsided smirk. "Not a very comfortable feeling is it?"

"To put it mildly," Hawke said with a laugh. "But what can you do?"

"He's already put an end to the mage-templar war," Anders put in, feeling really proud of his lover, "survived the sack of Haven and the avalanche that ended it, put an end to the rebel mages trying to sell themselves to Tevinter, rescued and recruited the templars that hadn't yet fallen to the red..." He paused. "Oh, did you know about the Templars?"

"Red lyrium," Varric put in. "Filthy stuff."

Alistair looked from one to the other of them and then settled down in a chair, gesturing for another drink from Varric. "All right. Maybe you better start from the very beginning."

***

Dorian had been thinking about it since he and Fenris had returned to Skyhold – a way to help Fenris, a way to pay him back for all he did for Dorian during his encounter with his father. He wasn't sure if there was a big enough gesture to perfectly embody the gratitude he felt for that. There was no way he would've gotten through all of that as well as he had without Fenris by his side.

The only thing he could think of that could come close to paying Fenris back would be to come up with a way to break the last of the conditioning that seemed part and parcel of the lyrium brands he'd been given. But to do that, he would, ideally, need to know a lot more about them and the process behind them than he did now.

And that wasn't something he felt right about looking into without Fenris' permission. But asking him for that permission seemed a daunting task as well. He fussed and worried at it, considering and discarding more than one approach, until one night, when they were cuddled up together in Dorian's bed after another round of frankly mind-blowing sex, Dorian just blurted out, "I want to study the lyrium."

"What lyrium?" Fenris asked sleepily. "The red stuff?"

"No." He hesitated for a moment. "Yours."

"Oh." For quite a few moments it seemed Fenris wasn't going to say any more than that, but then he rolled over onto his back and added, "What would that involve?"

"Maybe some... tests to begin with," Dorian said cautiously. "Just to figure out exactly what they're – you're – capable of." This, he thought, was probably going to be the easiest part to sell. "Not too much different than some of the stretching of your abilities you've already been doing."

"Why?"

"Because if I can figure out exactly what you're capable of with them, I can also figure out your... limitations." He tried to choose his words carefully, knowing that this was a veritable field of fire mines of Fenris' issues. It would be far too simple to stumble and accidentally burn both of them. "Things that may have been added in to... put limits on you."

Fenris turned his head to look at Dorian, "Just to be clear, is this about touching me?"

"I would be lying if I said it wasn't," Dorian said, turning slightly and propping himself up on an elbow to look Fenris in the eye. "But as much as I want to be able to touch you the way we both want and have you remain present, that in the end is just a symptom. I want to find any and all controls Danarius might have left you with, and I want to remove them." He paused and said as heartfelt and intense as he could, "I want to break any chains that still remain."

Fenris held his gaze for another long moment. Then he took a deep breath and said simply, "Okay."

Dorian blinked. He had expected... well, not that."Okay? Just like that?"

Fenris shrugged against the bed. "I trust you."

Those three words made Dorian's stomach flip, perhaps even more than when Fenris had said he loved him. He reached out a hand, stopping just short of laying a palm against Fenris' cheek. "Even if I have to look into Danarius' research? To figure out exactly what he did and what he intended?" He noted absently that his fingers were trembling.

"How would you do that?" Fenris asked, shifting a little on the bed and then sitting up. "Are you... planning to go home for a while?" He looked less composed now.

"Not if I don't have to," Dorian said. "I have a few friends I can trust to send me public records. That's where I'd start."

"None of Danarius' apprentices yet live. Or at least none that were his apprentice at the time. I suppose there may have been others involved in the original research." Fenris' sneer suggested that he'd rather they were dead too and preferably by his hand.

Dorian didn't disagree with that, but tracking down and ending everyone who had ever hurt his lover was something that would have to wait for a future time. Right now, understanding what was had been done to Fenris so that he could undo anything that still remained was the most important. "Trust me when I say that, when someone is as eager to show off his successes as Danarius was, it is inevitable that they let things slip," he said. "My friend's been in a position to have noted those things, or at the very least, know who to interrogate to find them."

Fenris was studying the markings on his arms. "I competed to get these, so I'm told. Defeated all comers for the privilege. Victorious, I won my mother and sister's freedom and the agony that wiped them from my memory."

Dorian wasn't sure if his touch would be welcome at the moment, but he couldn't not try. So he offered his hand to Fenris, leaving the ultimate decision up to him whether to take it or not. Something tense inside him unwound when Fenris entwined their fingers together.

"Sounds like you were a protector even back then," Dorian said softly, giving Fenris' hand a squeeze. Then he made a thoughtful sound as he turned the information Fenris had just shared over in his mind, trying to ignore the way it made him feel, just for the moment. There was something possibly important there.

"I wonder... you talk about it as if the loss of memory was a byproduct of the process. But... what if it was deliberate? I mean, what better way to make the perfect slave than to erase the knowledge of anything else? Someone who had the indomitable will to win the kind of brutal competition Danarius would've held is always going to be someone who you would have to worry about pushing too far. Unless they don't know they _can_ push back."

"You... have a point. I've never considered that before, but it does sound like something Danarius would do." Fenris closed his eyes, looking pained and spoke in a tight growl. "He liked me to be completely in thrall to him, a spiritual slave as well as one in reality."

Unable to help himself, Dorian carded his fingers of his free hand through Fenris' hair in the way that had proven to be soothing to him in the past. "And yet, you broke free of him even with all of his added attempts to keep you enslaved. Your indomitable will could only stand to be dominated for so long."

Fenris opened his eyes and turned his head slightly, pushing into Dorian's hand. "Not before I did some terrible things at his command."

"If my suspicions are right and he used magic on your mind as much as he did on your body, the blame for anything he commanded him to do can not reasonably be laid at your feet," Dorian told him firmly.

"Gratifying thought it might be to place all the blame on him, I think the... conditioning of slavery was sufficient to make me mindlessly obedient. It would be wrong to deny what part of the blame was mine."

Dorian opened his mouth to argue the point, but closed it again without doing so. It occurred to him that trying to deny Fenris ownership of his feelings about that time, even if they were negative, was far too close to how many of his class routinely treated their slaves. He would be damned to the Void before he knowingly treated Fenris that way.

So he continued to gently stroke Fenris' hair and tried to think of something else that might possibly cheer him up. That was when the idea occurred to him. "You know," he said slowly, "if the wiping of your memory was a completely different procedure from the lyrium branding, it might be possible to find a way to reverse it."

"I don't think either of us want that," Fenris said inexplicably.

That response caught Dorian off guard. "I'm not sure what you mean," he said carefully, frowning. "Why wouldn't I want you to regain all that has been stolen from you?"

"I don't think I was the same person before the marking ritual. My name... that person's name was Leto. I am Fenris. I was born on the ritual table." He met Dorian's eyes. "You love Fenris. You don't know Leto."

Dorian blinked slowly. "You're thinking if you remembered Leto you would forget Fenris," he said slowly. He pressed a hand against Fenris' cheek. "That isn't what I'm suggesting at all, amatus. I would never suggest taking anything away from you. What I'm suggesting is just the opposite actually. Not replacing Fenris with Leto, but letting Fenris remember Leto. That's all."

"No. Dorian, I don't want that." Fenris got off the bed and started pacing agitatedly. "It would be like having two people in my head. I'm... happy, Dorian. For the first time in my life, _this_ life, I can say that. I'm happy with who I am, and I'm happy with you. Don't make me go back. Leto was a slave, was born a slave. I don't want him."

In the face of his lover's very obvious distress, Dorian could do nothing but completely capitulate. He got out of bed and stepped in front of Fenris, stopping his agitated pacing with the simple expedient of a hand placed gently on his chest. Over his heart. "I promise you," he said, when he had Fenris' eyes on him, "that I will never make you do anything you do not want to. If you don't want to regain your lost memories, I will not force them on you. More than that, I would fight anyone who tried. No one will ever take your autonomy away from you again if there is anything I could do to prevent it."

Fenris took a deep shuddering breath and let it go slowly. "Thank you."

"I've upset you," Dorian said, more than a little dismayed at Fenris' reaction. He knew this was going to be a... sensitive subject, but still to see Fenris so distressed... "That was not at all my intent. I feel like I've overstepped my boundaries. If you'd rather I dropped this entire line of inquiry..."

"You've overstepped nothing." Fenris put his hands on Dorian's arms. "Just because one aspect of this investigation needs to be dropped does not mean the whole thing does."

"The last thing I want to do is hurt you," Dorian said, meeting Fenris' gaze, knowing his own was worried. "I know I can get... lost in whatever research I'm doing. Keep going past the point where anybody else rational would stop. That can and has led to some amazing breakthroughs, but... Don't let me get so carried away with this that I hurt you. Please."

"I won't. You need to promise me something in return though."

"Anything."

A quick smile flashed across Fenris' face in response to that. "Trust me to know when to say no. Put it from your mind. If I do say no, don't blame yourself for upsetting me. Trust me."

Trust Fenris. Dorian nodded. "I can do that," he said, then quickly corrected himself. "I do do that. I trust you." He let his mouth quirk up into a wry half smirk. "It's myself I don't always trust. At least when it comes to seeing when I should stop."

"You don't need to." Fenris pulled him closer. "I know you would never deliberately hurt me, and if it looks like you might accidentally do so, I'll simply tell you to stop."

"You have so much faith in me," Dorian marvelled, shaking his head and wrapping his arms around Fenris. "Thank you."

Fenris gave him a slanted smile. "Shouldn't I be thanking you? I'm the one you're trying to fix."

Dorian felt himself bristling at that word. "Not fix. You are not broken, far from it. I'm trying to free you from the last of your restraints."

Resting his head on Dorian's shoulder, Fenris said wistfully, "Not to have to resist the craving for your touch; that would be quite something."

That steadied something in Dorian, reassured him that pursuing this was the right thing to do after all. "I will do my best to make that happen," he promised. "And we all know that my best is very good indeed."

Fenris chuckled against him. "Talking of which, shall we go back to bed?"

"What an obvious question!" Dorian gave him his best lascivious smile. "We should always go back to bed."

***

Hawke knew he probably should've just called for a servant to bring him something instead of heading out in search of the kitchens with intent to forage a midnight snack on his own. But he had never really got comfortable with the idea of servants waiting on him – the only one he had ever hired on his own was Orana, and there had been extenuating circumstances. Also he was as restless as he was hungry, so wandering through the castle halls looking for the kitchen seemed like a way to solve both problems.

A part of him, the part that was a young boy growing up in Ferelden's countryside, that boggled at being able to wander the Ferelden King's Castle freely, more than any other thing he'd done or place he'd visited. Not that he was ever going to admit that to anyone.

Well, maybe Anders.

Of course, he hadn't expected for wandering the castle halls to turn into getting lost in the castle halls. He frowned as he turned a corner and found himself at a dead end. Apparently he should've turned left instead of right at that last intersection of corridors.

It was as he was turning around to retrace his steps that a heavy weight slammed into his back, rapidly followed by a sound and a crushing pain that he recognised all too well from various battles.

Someone was stabbing him.

He reacted instinctively, a mind blast throwing the weight off his back, though the pain stayed. He realised as he stumbled turning around to face the threat that he may have thrown his attacker away, but the blade remained lodged in his back.

His attacker was just slowly starting to get back to his feet by the time Hawke managed to turn enough to face him. He was dressed in the clothing of a servant and unremarkable in every way – if you ignored the wicked looking curved dagger he pulled from his jerkin.

Hawke was in trouble.

"Feeling the poison yet?" the attacker asked, lips curling into a sneering smile as he formed a defensive stance. "Magebane. Just for you."

Magebane. A different kind of pain radiating out from the white hot agony in his back, a searing blaze that seemed to run through his veins, leaving a terrifying numbness behind where his magic usually was.

Trouble was starting to seem like an overly optimistic appraisal of his situation, but he wasn't going down without a fight.

Ignoring the pain and the numbness spreading through his body, Hawke spread his feet and bent his knees a little to get a more stable footing. He bared his teeth at his attacker in a feral grin. "You think magic's my only weapon?"

"I think it's the only one that's a threat to me." The assassin, as that was surely what he was, laughed and jumped into the air, spinning forward and then just... vanishing. Hawke just about managed to get his back to a wall in time before the assassin reappeared on the other side of him, dagger aiming at his face.

He raised an arm to block it, but the blow never came. Instead the assassin's eyes went wide and the dagger he was holding slipped from his grasp, falling to the floor. A second later the man followed it, collapsing slowly into a heap at Hawke's feet, revealing Cole holding two bloody daggers of his own.

Hawke had never been so happy to see a spirit in his life. "You have excellent timing," he said. "Though a minute earlier would've been even better."

"His mind was too quiet," Cole said, putting his daggers away and getting under one of Hawke's arms to brace him as his knees threatened to buckle. "I didn't know he was here until I heard your pain. I'm sorry."

Hawke waved off the apology. "No, you kept him from slitting my throat so it's all good. Thank you. Now if you could just get the knife out of my back..."

Cole nodded and reached for it, then stopped with a frown. "It will bleed a lot if I pull it out. Maybe too much."

"I DON'T CARE," Hawke all but yelled, then grimaced, both at the pain and the way Cole had flinched back. "It's coated in magebane," he explained through gritted teeth. "Keeping me from my magic. I need it out."

"I know," Cole said, infinitely gentle, even reaching out to pat his face. "But you need your blood inside you more."

As much as he wanted to, Hawke couldn't argue with that. "I'm not going to be much help then," he said instead, leaning more of his weight on Cole's slight frame as a wave of dizziness settled over him, reality turning dark at the edges.

"You don't have to be," Cole assured him, his eyes distant. "Not now. I called for help. They're coming. But he says you need to stay awake until they get here."

Hawke frowned, but forced his eyes that were half closed all the way open again. "Who?"

"Anders."

That was enough to get him to focus more clearly for a moment at least. "You're talking to Anders?"

Cole shook his head. "To Justice. But Anders knows. He's coming. They're all coming." His voice took on that slightly disconnected quality it did when he was reciting someone's thoughts. "Hold on, Hawke, I'm coming, just hold on. Oh Maker, what was he doing wandering about on his own anyway? It's our fault, isn't it? Going on about how essential he is. But he _is_ essential. To me anyway. How did an attacker even get into this place? No, it's this way, Varric. Justice says–"

Cole stopped talking, but the words continued in Anders own voice as he arrived on the scene and immediately darted forward to hold him. "Hawke! What have they done to you, love?"

Hawke gripped onto his lover as tightly as he could, as much to keep from falling as for the contact. "Dagger in the back," he said through gritted teeth. "Dosed with magebane. Tell you everything, just first, get it out."

"Magebane? That bastard," Anders said, moving Hawke's weight back to Cole so that he could turn him. "Varric, I'll need lyrium."

"I'll deal with that," Cassandra said as she turned and strode off rapidly.

He felt Anders gently prodding the area where the knife was. "Where this is, it's going to bleed like a torrent, and I won't be able to stop it immediately as I need to neutralise the magebane before I can do anything else. So... Varric, I need a lit torch. Cole, keep him upright."

Hawke felt Cole's grip on him tighten. The next few minutes he could tell were going to _suck_. "This is not how I thought this night was going to go," he joked weakly.

Varric managed to liberate one of the wall torches by using Bianca as an arm extension. He immediately handed it over to Anders, who said, "Now give him something leather to bite. Quickly."

With a worried look, Varric removed his belt, slid off all the pouches and other attachments, and handed it to Hawke.

Hawke did his best to give Varric a reassuring wink as he took the belt, but he was fairly sure it fell far short of the mark. "I probably don't want to ask everywhere this belt has been recently, do I?" he said as he brought it to his mouth.

"Around my waist," Varric answered flatly, apparently too worried to respond with a joke in turn, which really brought home to Hawke just how bad he must look.

Hawke didn't have a chance to consider that any further, however, as the bitten off words, "Brace him," from Anders were all the warning he had before his back detonated with cascading levels of pain that quickly stole his breath and then his senses as the world disappeared for a while.

When he became aware of his surroundings again, he was lying on his side, head pillowed on someone's leg. The pain was mostly gone and was continuing to fade as he felt the touch of long clever fingers and cool soothing magic trace over his back. His own magic was once again there when he reached for it, though it responded sluggishly. Still it was enough to make him breathe a sigh of relief.

"Awake, love?" Anders asked softly from behind him.

"I think so," he replied. That seemed to cause a flurry of activity around him, but he didn't try to move yet because he could feel that Anders was still working on him.

He heard a clink of glass as Anders moved about. Potion vials, perhaps. "You're going to be fine, but this is why you need to keep me with you. That wasn't an ordinary dagger. Varric, tell him."

Varric coughed from somewhere near by. "It was a Crow design. I've seen them before, but not as ornate as this one. They have a hollow chamber that runs through them. It gets filled with the poison of choice and a mechanism delivers it all into the stabbed victim. I figure you owe the kid here thanks for your life."

"Figured that much out already," Hawke replied. "Thank you, Cole. Dying because I decided I wanted a midnight snack and couldn't find the kitchen would've been an awfully embarrassing way to go."

He felt unfamiliar fingers gently touch his head briefly and that was when he realised it was Cole's lap he was lying in. "I'm glad I could help," Cole replied.

"I apologise for this, Hawke." He turned his head a little, managing to look up and see King Alistair. "Up until an hour ago, I would've sworn that the castle's security was top notch, but if a Crow assassin could slip in so easily–"

"He wasn't a Crow," Cole interrupted.

"Yeah," Varric said, not sounding surprised. "Crow basic design, but far too fancy for the servant's costume. Crows wouldn't let vanity ruin a good disguise."

"What was he then, Cole?" Cassandra's voice.

"Pain, shock, realisation. Doesn't matter. They will finish what I started. All hail the Elder One," Cole said.

There was a brief silence, then Alistair asked tentatively, "Does that... mean something?"

"It means I almost got taken out by a venatori," Hawke said bluntly, resisting the urge to swear a blue streak.

"Here?" Alistair's voice went up in register.

"Looks that way." Hawke turned his head to try and look over his shoulder. "Can I move yet?"

"Yes," Anders said, though he sounded reluctant. "No running around until I give the say so though. And no using magic yet."

"This is our fault," Cassandra said. "We should have sent out more detailed warnings to every country's ruler. We didn't want to say too much until we knew more, until we had the proof some of them would demand..."

Varric sighed. "You really enjoy guilt, don't you, Seeker?"

"What? No! I just... It's important to see where we went wrong so that we can do better."

"And where I went wrong was letting my guard down," Hawke said, sitting up slowly, bracing himself for pain that didn't come. Anders was very good at his job. He could feel the loose robe he'd thrown on to go exploring was now in tatters at the back. "None of us can afford to do that. No matter where we are."

Alistair was still frowning and looking guilty. "You should be able to here. I apologise again. I don't like it when my guests are attacked."

"Speaking from the guest point of view, we're not crazy about it either," Hawke replied. "But it's not your fault. And we've more important things to do than place blame, like track down the others."

"Yes," Cassandra said, sounding more determined again. "There is never just one venatori. They are like cockroaches. If you find one, somewhere close is an infestation."

"Seeker," Varric said, "if you'll allow me to give you some advice, call in Scout Harding from her family visit. I know she seems so sweet it's hard to believe she'd stamp on an earwig, but she's one of Leliana's. She'll find the others, no sweat."

"Yes," Hawke confirmed. He was sorry for interrupting Harding's family visit, but Varric was right. He'd put any of Leliana's people up against Venatori agents any day and count it as a sure thing. "We can run a big public investigation, keep their attention focused on us, and that will leave Harding free to work while they're distracted." He glanced at Cole. "Would you be willing to help her?"

Cole nodded vigorously. "They hurt people. I will help stop them."

Hawke gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you, Cole." He started to get his feet under him to stand up. "Just let me get changed and we can start–"

"Oh no, you don't." Anders helped Hawke stand, but then stood in his way. "You are starting nothing but walking slowly back to our rooms, where you will sleep, and I will watch over you."

Hawke opened his mouth to argue, but the look on Anders' face told him there would be no changing his mind without a huge fight, and frankly, Hawke didn't have the energy to argue. "Fine," he grudgingly gave in. "But only for a few hours."

"For as long as it takes," Anders said firmly, wrapping an arm around Hawke's waist. "Your Majesty, if we could have a couple of your most trusted guards at our door...?"

"Of course," Alistair answered immediately. "I'll arrange for it at once."

"Thank you," Hawke said, not even trying to fight Anders' taking over. He was too tired, and it was a good precaution to take considering.

"Yeah, thank you," Varric said from close by. "That'll allow Harding to take charge of the men that came with us. I'll stay close too, of course. Bianca will keep any repeat performances at bay."

Hawke managed a smile at his best friend. "I know she will. Thanks, Varric." He turned to Anders. "You win, love. Take me to bed."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which time is of the essence..._

' **He will recover. You have healed all the damage.** '

'Thanks to you and Cole getting me to him in time. Without Cole, Hawke would be dead.'

' **I will never understand why you concern yourself with things that did not happen.** '

Anders smiled wearily. 'You're right, my friend. It's a waste of mental energy. I just don't seem to be able to stop.'

It still felt odd, talking to Justice like this in his head. For so long they had been so fused together that Anders could only guess at where he stopped and the spirit began. But now it seemed they could talk again like they once had, before they shared a body. Anders rather liked it.

He suspected Justice was less easy with the situation, however, and that's why the spirit had been so quiet lately.

' **You too need to sleep**.'

'Not yet. I need to talk to him first. Wouldn't it be nice if Elissa made it back while we're still here. I knew she'd understand about you and me.'

' **That is untrue. You have often worried that she'd condemn us.** '

Anders sighed. That was the thing with spirits. They made those friendly little lies everyone tells themselves impossible.

His attention was drawn outward by Hawke moving next to him. The man rolled over onto his back and stretched before blinking sleepily up at Anders. A second later, Hawke was reaching for him, pulling him into his arms until he laid snuggled against his side.

"Hello, love," he said, pressing a soft kiss on Hawke's mouth. "How are you feeling?"

"Better than I have any right to," Hawke replied, his voice a low rumble, rougher than normal with the remains of sleep. "Thanks to you. Resting before jumping into things was probably the right call."

"There's no 'probably' about it. Some things it's right to delegate."

"You might have noticed delegating does not come naturally to me," Hawke said wryly, smiling slightly as he skimmed a featherlight touch of a finger over Anders' features.

"Which would make sense if you had untrustworthy underlings, but Varric, Cassandra, Cole and Harding are all really good at their jobs." Anders smiled and caught Hawke's finger in his hand. "Let them do those jobs undistracted, knowing you're safe here with me and that bunch of burly Ostagar veterans outside the door." He kissed Hawke's fingertip.

Hawke gave a long sigh and closed his eyes briefly. "Maybe for just a little while," he agreed without argument. He was silent for a moment and then said in a voice so soft that if Anders had been any farther away than he was he wouldn't have heard him, "I really thought I was going to die."

Anders felt something twist hard and cold inside him. He knew how close Hawke had been to death; hadn't he just been telling Justice the same? But to hear Hawke say it... "I think Cole deserves some kind of inquisitorial medal of honour." He tried for a light-hearted tone but didn't truly manage it.

Sighing, he pulled Hawke closer. "Did they follow us here, or are they infiltrating every palace in case you visit?"

Hawke made a thoughtful sound. "It's far more likely they're here to spy on Alistair and perhaps go after him or disrupt his rule. I think it's just luck that he stumbled on me when I was alone."

"I hope you're right because if not..." If not, then nowhere would be safe. If the Venatori stopped all their multitude of projects and just concentrated on getting Hawke dead...

"Hey." Hawke gently gripped his chin and forced him to look at him. "I'm right here. And I promise I'm not going to take any more walks alone in unfamiliar territory."

He hadn't dared ask, not exactly, so for Hawke to volunteer that meant the world. "Thank you," he breathed.

"I'm not a complete idiot," Hawke said with his usual humorous smirk. "I can actually learn my lessons. Granted, it often takes a near death experience to drive them home, but..."

Once they got back to Skyhold, Anders thought he might have a quiet word or two in certain ears to make sure Hawke had some kind of honour guard from now on... he'd hate that though, so maybe not. "You're not an idiot, just independent minded and stubborn as a druffalo."

Hawke chuckled softly. "Well, I suppose that's better than being as smelly as a druffalo." His smile faded, and he spent a moment just looking at Anders. "You know," he said finally, contemplatively, "I stopped being scared for my life when you showed up. I knew it didn't matter how bad I'd been tagged, how much poison he'd poured into me, you'd get me through it. I've never seen someone who can heal like you."

He smiled at the compliment, but then felt his smile fade, unable to not think of all the things he might not be able to heal, all the situations where he might not be able to reach Hawke in time. Or worse still, when up against Corypheus. That bastard could take over again, make him into the weapon that killed Hawke.

He caught his breath sharply. Justice was right. Fretting so much over 'what ifs' just made him less able to handle the 'actually ares'.

Snuggling closer still, he shut his eyes, realising as he did so just how very tired he was. "Do you think you could sleep some more, love?"

"Maybe," Hawke said contemplatively. Anders felt him stroke his back. "But if not, I'm pretty positive I can just lay here and watch you sleep. Like you've been doing for me."

"Promise you'll stay?"

Hawke kissed his forehead. "I promise. If for some reason I do have to leave, I'll wake you first."

"Okay. That works." He took a deep breath, relishing in the human warmth around him, in every rise and fall of Hawke's chest. It was a gentle rhythm that had carried him off to sleep so many times. He doubted now would be an exception.

***

Fenris was, he had to admit, having fun. He rarely got the chance to spar with other warriors, and the Chargers had an interesting range of skills and personalities. This was good experience for all of them. For their sake, he wasn't using his lyrium abilities, just honing his more normal ones, and that was important. He should never get complacent. He had to know he could still fight even if some mage found a way to cancel out his ghosting.

He certainly had the strength for it, he thought, looking with wry amusement at the pieces of Krem's shield now lying on the ground. "I, uh, hope that was a throwaway one for training."

Krem just grinned at him. "If we don't go through at least a half dozen practice shields a week someone's been going too easy. You do know who the Chief is, right?"

"You have a point." Fenris chuckled. "Do you want to replace it, or shall I batter someone else for now?"

"Maybe you should go get a shield and I'll get my practice maul and I can batter on you for a change," Krem offered.

Before Fenris could respond, he heard an unfamiliar voice calling his name and turned to see Krem's 'Chief', The Iron Bull walking towards them.  

"You need me for something?" he asked, craning his neck a little to talk to the qunari.

Iron Bull didn't say anything else until he was close enough to lower his voice and still be heard. "Raven just came in," he said. "Heard it was from Denerim. The look on the scout's face when she read the message wasn't a good one. They sent it up to Leliana right away."

" _Kaffas_." Fenris started striding away immediately before he caught himself. "Thank you, Bull," he said with a quick glance back.

His trek up to Leliana's domain took him through the library and right past an alcove where a certain Tevinter mage had set up his research. "Fenris?" Dorian asked, frowning slightly as he took in his expression. "What's wrong?"

He hadn't expected Dorian to be up here, but he was decidedly glad to see him. "A raven has come from Denerim, and the recipients looked grim. I'm going to find out more."

Dorian's frown got much more pronounced. "Do you want me to come with you?" he asked bluntly.

"Yes," Fenris said, equally bluntly, heading for the stairs.

Dorian immediately put down the book he'd been reading and fell into step beside him, and they both headed up the stairs to the top of the tower where Leliana had set up shop.

The place was a flurry of activity, with scouts coming, talking briefly to Leliana, then leaving again, sometimes with small packets. Even though she already seemed to be doing about ten things at once, Leliana noticed their arrival immediately. She paused, spoke briefly to the current scout she was talking to, then crossed the open area to where Fenris and Dorian were standing at the top of the stairs.

She minced no words, nor asked why they were there, just told Fenris what he wanted to know. "We received a message by raven from Denerim. Hawke was attacked and wounded by a venatori assassin."

Wounded. Well, that was better than he'd feared. "How bad?"

"Bad. He was stabbed in the back with a dagger poisoned with magebane," Leliana said grimly. "He was lucky he had Anders with him. Chances are he would've gone into shock and bled out if he'd had a healer any less skilled."

"Then," Dorian ventured hesitantly, "he's going to be all right?"

Leliana nodded, her expression losing a little bit of the foreboding mask it had. "Oh yes. When Scout Harding sent her raven, she said that Anders had managed to heal the damage and that Hawke was sleeping off the effects." She let out a long breath. "We got lucky. This time."

"I should have been there," Fenris growled. "What was Cassandra thinking to let this happen?"

"If anyone is at fault it is me," Leliana said. "I relied too much on reports given to me from Alistair's people. I should have had more agents of my own in the palace. If I had–"

"You would have risked starting a rather large political incident, I expect," Dorian put in. "And the Venatori may have slipped through anyway. Tevinter assassins tend to be amongst the most skilled and deadly in all of Thedas. There's so much work at home for them to perfect their craft, you see."

"In that case we need to get Hawke out of there immediately!" Fenris should have been there. Instead he'd taken the opportunity to opt out, so he could organise a gift for Dorian and just... _be_ with him. And now Hawke had paid the price. "What's being done?" he demanded.

"My agents and Varric are working with Alistair's people to backtrack the assassin and see what information they can shake loose that way," Leliana said. "Cassandra's reassessing security, and Alistair's assigned two of his most trusted guards to Hawke. I'm doing what I can to organise things long distance and arranging to send some reinforcements to Denerim just in case." She paused. "We're lucky we're dealing with Ferelden and not Orlais; we can deal plainly with Alistair and expect the same."

"I'll leave immediately." Fenris turned to Dorian. "Uh, would you..."

"Come with you? Absolutely," Dorian replied.  

"Good. Thank you." He turned to Leliana again. "Anything else we need to know?"

"The Chargers are the most ready and self-contained group we have at the moment so they're going to be the reinforcements. The Iron Bull's... unique training may also prove helpful in ferreting out any remaining venatori agents," Leliana said.  

"If they can keep up, they're welcome to come with us. We'll be leaving within the hour."

"If they're not ready, we'll just be the advance scouts," Dorian put in smoothly.

Leliana nodded, then got pulled away by another agent carrying reports to her.

Dorian touched Fenris' arm. "We best pack if we're leaving so soon."

"That's why I said an hour rather than immediately, to give you that chance. I'll head to the stables and organise mounts. I'll meet you at the gates."

"Fenris." Dorian's grip on his arm tightened, keeping him from running off right away. "I know hearing what's happened is distressing, but Hawke is all right. Try to focus on that."

"I should have been there," he said, allowing more emotion into his voice now only Dorian was listening.

Dorian frowned at him. "You're not considering it your fault that Hawke was attacked?"

He stared at Dorian, unsure how to find the words to answer that. In the end he made do with, "I'm a bodyguard."

Dorian exhaled slowly. "So there's nothing I can say to make you feel any less guilty." He nodded, seeming to accept that. "I warn you, that won't actually stop me from trying to come up with something that will."  

He managed a slanted smile. "We'll have plenty of time on the road for that."

"We will." They had made it back down the stairs and were standing just inside the stairwell. Dorian glanced around, then leant in and gave him a quick kiss. "Go, get us some horses and supplies. I'll get us both packed. We'll make the journey in record time, and then Hawke can tell you himself that he's all right, and you can glower at him for making you worry."

Fenris grabbed Dorian around the waist before he could escape and gave him a much better kiss. Then, without a further word, he pulled away and jogged towards the stables.

It didn't take him long to get two horses saddled and ready, but it was long enough apparently for Dorian to get their stuff together because he was waiting at the gate by the time Fenris led the horses out there.

"I spoke to Iron Bull," Dorian said as he handed the equipment to Fenris to fasten to their mounts. "I told him we're heading out now. They will try and catch up with us, or if not, will see us in Denerim."

"Thank you," Fenris said, and he wasn't meaning the Chargers. For Dorian to be ready so quickly meant he had to have sacrificed a lot of the niceties he preferred.

"I'm just grateful you were willing to at least wait for me and didn't just run off on your own," Dorian said seriously.

"Once, I would've. Now I know I'm better with you." He checked the girth strap on his horse and then pulled himself into the saddle. "You may still have to remind me to pace our mounts, however."

"I... may have something that could help with that," Dorian said as he mounted his own horse. "All that research into time magic I helped Alexius with has led me to develop a few new tricks."

Fenris raised an eyebrow. "Something less malign, I hope."

"It's nothing that's going to rip a hole in the fabric of time, I promise," Dorian said. "I call it a haste spell. Basically for the duration of the spell's effects. we would be moving significantly faster than everything around us. I haven't quite got all the kinks out of it enough for use in combat, but it should at least work to allow us to cover ground faster."

"Excellent. Let's save it until we get to the foothills."

Dorian nodded and they moved out at a brisk trot, riding side by side. Fenris caught Dorian sneaking glances at him, though he remained uncharacteristically silent.

"Why so quiet?" he asked when the winding path forced them to slow for a while.

"I wasn't sure if you were in a mood to talk," Dorian said, paused then added all in a rush, "Also I was trying to decide if you going along so easily with my offer to use magic to speed us along says more about how much you trust me or how worried you are about Hawke."

Fenris gave him a sideways glance. "The abomination uses magic on me every time Hawke leads us into battle, and I wouldn't trust him to blow his own nose. I've told you I trust you, more than once. I'm surprised you still need proof of that."

"Vivid first impressions?" Dorian guessed. "I blundered around acting like an arse so much without meaning to when we first met that I think I'm overly sensitive about doing so again. Ironically, it seems it's made me more wary than even you now."

Fenris sighed. "Magic, whether I like it or not, is a prominent part of my life. Not just from the people most important to me, but also my own abilities could be described as magic." He winced. "Never repeat that where Anders can hear."

"I will restrain myself in his presence," Dorian promised. He paused. "Whether you like it or not," he repeated thoughtfully. "Do you? Like it? Or are you gritting your teeth and wishing it didn't exist?"

He didn't answer immediately, thinking it over. "I used to hate the very thought of it; years of accompanying Hawke slowly changed that. I've had my life saved by magic at least as often as I've had it threatened by it. The world would be a safer place without magic; we only have to look at the sky to see that, but... hard though it was for me to first admit this, I wouldn't want to be without the powers my markings bring, and I wouldn't want you or Hawke different than you are."

"I'm glad," Dorian said with a small smile. "And relieved – I've questioned many things about myself and my life over the years, but my magic has never been one of them."

The path straightened out for a while so they spurred their mounts back into a trot for a while, making casual conversation hard, but when they slowed again, Fenris glanced over and said, "Thank you. For coming with me."

"Of course I'm coming with you." Dorian scoffed. "As if there was even a remote possibility that I would let you go haring off without me. If you had tried I would have followed, and we would have had words when I caught up with you. There would have been shouting. Lots of shouting. So really, this way is much better."

"Save the shouting for Hawke," Fenris said with a wry smile.

"I don't know if I know him well enough to get away with shouting at him that way," Dorian mused. "Though I can stand behind you and glower while you shout at him if you'd like."

"Feel free to, should you so wish. There will certainly be shouting." Providing Hawke was well enough to be shouted at, and if he wasn't... Best not to think of that.

"My glower may not quite live up to yours, but I will endeavour to do my best," Dorian told him. He paused and seeming to intuit where Fenris' thoughts were going added in a softer more reassuring tone, "Leliana said he was okay. That Anders had healed him."

"Yes." He could only hope that was still the case. "Do you want to try that magic of yours now?"

Dorian nodded. "It will be best if we're not actually moving when I do so," he said, reining in his horse. "Less traumatic for the animals. Don't worry. I promise we will more than make up the time we lose by stopping."

"I trust you," Fenris said as he halted his own mount. It seemed to need saying.

A pleased smile flickered across Dorian's features at the words, before he became all business again. "This will probably feel a little strange at first," he warned, dropping his reins so he could weave magic around them with complicated gestures that trailed golden light through the air behind them.

The golden light grew brighter and then expanded outward until it surrounded the two of them and their horses. Fenris could feel the power of it as it brushed against his brands, causing them to flare without his conscious decision.

He didn't like it. Or at least, he didn't like the inappropriate response it made him feel. He cursed Danarius in his head, but kept his expression calm, his hands unclenched. He didn't want Dorian to know he was anything other than fine about this spell.

Dorian finished casting and turned to Fenris. "I can't hold it for that long – half an hour at most, but it will seem longer from our perspective," he said, then frowned. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Fine. When do we start moving?"

"We can right now," Dorian said, still frowning a little.

"Let's go then." He kicked his horse forward. The landscape immediately blurred around him, and he nearly hauled on the reins to stop again, but that would have been stupid. Instead, he tried to concentrate on going in the right direction... as far as he could tell.

The only thing not a blur of motion was Dorian riding beside him, smirking a little now. "It does take a bit of getting used to," he said, since even though they were obviously practically flying, it didn't seem like they were moving much faster than the trot they'd been using, that was just slow enough to make talking not completely impossible.

"The most impressive thing is that the horses seem unconcerned. Perhaps it helps that there are two of them. Do not overstretch yourself, Dorian. Impressive as this magic is, and urgent as our journey is, I would not have you harm yourself."

"I know my limits, but thank you for the concern," Dorian said. "I won't overextend myself, I promise." He gave a sudden, giddy smile. "For the moment, despite the circumstances requiring it, I admit to being thrilled at being able to share this. Doing something impossible is all well and good, but doing something impossible with someone else to appreciate it is much more satisfying."

Fenris chuckled quietly. Despite how uncomfortable this was, he did enjoy seeing Dorian so justifiably pleased with himself. "It is clever magic, intelligently utilised," he said, "but only what I'd expect from you."

"I am very clever, aren't I?" Dorian agreed, still with that giddy smile. "You're the first one besides Felix to whom I've shown this spell, and that demonstration was not quite so practical as this."

"Then I am honoured. It, uh, seems to use a great deal of magic," he said, looking down at his still glowing hands on the reins.

"Not as much as you might think for what it is doing," Dorian said. "It's more in how the magic is placed, but yes, it is still an appreciable amount." He paused and then carefully stated, "I noticed it seems to be interacting with your markings. Is it– It's not... uncomfortable?"

"I'll be fine. This happens sometimes when there's a great deal of magic around me. Normally that's in the middle of a fight when I'd be glowing anyway, of course."

"Fascinating," Dorian said, looking at him, head cocked to the side slightly. "I wonder if that's side effect or design."

"Doesn't all lyrium respond to magical energy?" Fenris asked, feeling, if anything, even more uncomfortable. "I'd rather it didn't, but I don't get the choice."

"If it's by design though, it's another piece to solving the puzzle of exactly how to remove any hidden controls Danarius built in," Dorian pointed out. "But here and now is probably not the best time and place to discuss this, let alone experiment. Later then. But only when you are comfortable with us doing so."

Fenris agreed, which made it inexplicable when he heard himself saying, "It's embarrassing."

"What? Glowing?" Dorian asked, then quickly, "or not being able to control it? The latter, I am assuming. I'm afraid it's a burden you'll have to carry, even if we solve the lyrium reaction problem. Some of us just glow brighter whether we want to or not."

"It feels like I have an... inappropriate bodily reaction in a public place."

Dorian's eyes widened a little at that. "You liken it to..." He stopped, and cleared his throat before he continued. "Amatus, when you start glowing, I'm the one far more likely having an inappropriate bodily reaction."

Fenris threw him a gratified glance. "You like me this way?"

"I like you every way," Dorian assured him. "But yes. When you're like this, glowing with all that power and strength just held in check by your indomitable will, you are truly magnificent."

Well, that certainly helped him to feel less uncomfortable. "Just so you know," he said, "were circumstances different, I'd be demonstrating a completely appropriate bodily reaction to you right now."

"Naturally," Doran said, every inch the haughty altus just then, so much so that Fenris knew he was posturing on purpose. "For I am always magnificent." The manner fell away just as quickly as Dorian had put it on, and he smiled, all humour and affection. "Just not as magnificent as you."

"I think you're wrong about that." Dorian burnt every bit as brightly, albeit in a less overt way.

"I won't argue that point or any other that leads to you looking at me like that."  

Fenris chuckled. If they could flirt like this even on magically charged horseback, there really was no stopping them.

***

There were times that Hawke wanted nothing more than uninterrupted time with Anders and a bed. This unfortunately was not one of them.

"I feel fine," he said for what felt like the hundredth time.

"You're not fine," Anders insisted, also for the umpteenth time. "You feel like you are because the physical damage is healed completely, but that toxin was stronger than any I've met before, and the damage that did – to your magic and spirit – will only heal with time."

"Time I need to be doing something other than just lying in bed!" Hawke insisted, voice starting to get loud. He paused, counted to five, trying to rein it back in. "If I'm physically healed, is staying here really necessary?"

"That depends entirely on what you want to do and where you want to do it."

"Track down any other Venatori agents that have infested Alistair's castle and make my displeasure at being stabbed in the back known," Hawke said. "Very loudly. With lots of blood and bones breaking." He supposed he probably should've lied if he wanted to bypass the argument he and his lover were currently having, but he doubted Anders would've believed him if he said anything less anyways.

"No. We've been through this again and again. You have excellent agents working on that right now. Let them do their jobs." Anders folded his arms and frowned hard at Hawke.

"My job isn't lying in bed while everyone else is scrambling to find the bad guys!"

Anders sighed. "I know you're bored, love. You don't have to stay in bed. Hold a war council if you like. Shout at people. Just no combat until you're better."

"It isn't about being bored," Hawke insisted because it _wasn't_. "This was an attack on me. If I actually seem to disappear after it, it makes it look like it was worth it. To get me out of the way even if only for a little while. It'll encourage them to keep trying things like this." He shook his head vehemently. "I can't live like that, always waiting for the dagger out of the dark. I need to send a message here and now that assassination attempts are met with such an overreaction of wrath and violence that the attempt isn't worth the risk."

Also he was so angry he could barely see straight, and he needed to find an appropriate outlet for that before he said or did something against someone who didn't deserve it.

Anders sighed again and tipped his head back, shoving his fingers through his loose hair. "Right." Another sigh as he found the tie in one of his pockets and tied his hair up again. "Wait here then. Let me talk to the others."

"You're asking me to obligingly turn my back so you can conspire behind it on how to manage me," Hawke pointed out mildly. He didn't make any move to stop Anders though, knowing this was the first step in working out some option that they could all live with.

Anders didn't deny it. "Just so you know," he said instead as he walked to the door, "you are the worst patient of any I've ever treated. Good thing I love you." He shut the door behind him.

Hawke counted out an entire minute before he got out of bed and started getting dressed, putting on his lightest of the sets of battle armor he had with him. Meant mostly for ceremonial purposes, it was heavy enough to provide protection from the kind of attack that had felled him, but still light enough to reassure Anders and the others that he wasn't about to run headlong into an all out war campaign, however much he might wish to.

He was just finishing buckling when a knock on the door was quickly followed by Anders coming in. "Told you he'd be dressed and ready to go, didn't I?" he called over his shoulder.

The others trailed after him, one by one, into the room. Including his mabari.

Anders knew him too well, it seemed. "If you didn't want me to, you should've hidden my clothes," Hawke told him. "Of course that would have only led to you walking in on me naked and still ready to fight so probably best that you didn't."

He looked around at everyone, trying to gauge their reactions and intent. "So, is this going to be a well meaning attempt to try and lock me up for my own good, or are we going to focus our energy on finding any remaining venatori and raining destruction down upon them?"

"Neither," Cassandra said firmly. "You are not a prisoner. You can go where you wish. But being as our lives and those of much of Thedas depend on you being around to save us, we are not going to hand you information that would send you straight into danger."

"Unless you swear on your valuable collection of torn trousers that you will take all reasonable precautions," Varric put in.

"And by 'reasonable'," Anders said, "we mean what we could consider reasonable and not what you would."

"We need to know that you accept your importance to the world." Cassandra again.

"And won't just throw yourself headfirst into the first dodgy situation you find," Varric added.

"Like you normally do, love." Anders smiled sweetly.

"Fuming fury forces out the fear, but friends can help more than anger," Cole said. "They need to help. Let them. You're stronger together."

"Woof," Gwydion said definitively.

Hawke sighed and turned a rueful look on his mabari. "You too, Giddy?"

"We took a vote. It was unanimous," Anders said. "No juicy Venatori information for you unless you agree."

Part of Hawke wanted to argue, more because he was spoiling for a fight than he was chafing at the restrictions, but he knew that would only go to prove the point of him being irrational about this. He did utterly detest being managed, however. He took a deep breath and forced himself to address what they had said in as calm a manner as he could.

"I know I'm the only one who can close the rifts," he said, looking at Cassandra, before letting his gaze focus on the group as a whole again. "I'm not going to risk myself unnecessarily. But I'm not about to be herded to the side and kept out of the fight just because I have a magic hand. I have never hidden from a fight when someone comes after me and mine. I'm not about to start now."

"It's not just the rifts, Hawke." Varric came forward, separating himself a little from the small crowd. "You saw what happened to the world without you and me in it, and I somehow doubt I made much of that difference."

"You're not a rebel anymore, love. You're part of something greater." That came from, of all people, Anders. "You're not a free agent who can act on whim now."

"Not just a part of something greater," Cassandra said. "You're our leader, and we need you."

"No one's trying to barracks you," Varric said earnestly, only to pull a face. "Well, Blondie maybe is, but no one else."

Anders sighed. "Not even me," he said, giving Varric a look. "We just want to know that you'll take into account your new circumstances before acting in the future."

"I... will listen to your opinions on any given situation," Hawke said. "And take them – and my own importance – into account. But I can't and won't promise to always follow them. Not and still be a leader instead of a figurehead. Is that acceptable?"

"Depends," Varric said with a wry smile. "If we say no more midnight snacks on your own, what would you reply?"

"Get ready to be dragged around places looking for the kitchen," Hawke replied equally wryly. "Except at Skyhold. There has to be one place I have some freedom."

"No one is free of observers at Skyhold," Cassandra said with a little snort. "Leliana sees to that."

"And that's not creepy at all," Hawke observed. "But yes, I'm not stupid. I get stabbed in the back, I'm going to be more careful with the wandering around in the future."

A few moments' silence passed as looks were exchanged. Varric scratched the side of his head and then said, "So. You up for a game of prod the prisoner until she tells us what we want to know?"

Hawke stood up straighter. "You caught a venatori?" He bit back on the flash of anger that they hadn't led with that. He understood why. "What are we waiting for?"

"Harding caught her, and nothing now. She's got her all primed and ready for you, down in Alistair's remarkably empty dungeon." Varric made an ushering motion with his hands. "After you."

Hawke grabbed his staff and started for the door, but paused as an idea occurred to him. "Cole, you can hear thoughts, right?"

"Some," Cole replied, his head cocked to the side. "It has to be hurt or a way to help the hurt."

They could work with that. "Would you come with us and see if you can pick up anything from the prisoner?"

"Yes," Cole said immediately. "They need to stop hurting people."

It didn't take them long to get down to the dungeons. Ironically, they were easier to find than the kitchen had been. As well as his small gang of interventioneers, Hawke had gained a couple of guards in royal Ferelden tabards, and the whole crowd of them made their way straight to the one occupied cell.

Hawke nodded at Scout Harding who was standing outside the cell.

She nodded back. "Inquisitor."

"Scout Harding. Good work," he said to her. "Sorry to interrupt your time with your family."

"They understand," she replied, completely upbeat. "It wasn't like you were dragging me away for something unimportant."

"Still... when all this is over I expect you to take a few days with them before heading back with the rest of us."

She seemed to stand a little taller at that. "Yes, Inquisitor. Thank you!"

"We're all here for the interrogation," Varric said. "It's apparently what passes for a leisure time activity in Ferelden. I suggest our lady seeker does the actual interrogating. She's got the experience."

"Varric..." Cassandra released a pained sigh. "On the contrary, I'm a terrible interrogator, as Leliana would be happy to verify. I'm sure our Inquisitor would be happy to justify his title here."

Hawke turned his attention to the cell and its occupant, a very sullen looking woman dressed like a scullery maid. He moved to stand right in front of the door and in her line of vision. "Do you know who I am?" he asked her.

"Yes, messere," she said. "Of course, messere. Everyone knows who you are. Why am I here, messere? I ain't done nothing wrong."

That was how she was going to play it, was it? Hawke made a show of sighing. "Now for that to be true, I'd have to believe you over my own people. No offence, but I have more faith in them than I do in a scullery maid who isn't really a scullery maid. So this would all go a lot smoother if you would just admit to what you are and answer our questions."

"I am too a maid. Ask anyone. Messere, please, you got the wrong woman."

She was good, Hawke had to give her that. "Cole?" he asked though he didn't look away from her.

"Fear festering underneath, but cool calm on the surface," Cole said. "Deny to make them doubt, to let their guard down. All I need is one shot. If I can get close enough I won't fail like Cato did."

"Here, what's he saying? Who's Cato?" The calm Cole mentioned seemed to be fraying, the woman tugging at her bonds.

"He's dead," Cole told her. "I killed him." He sounded viciously satisfied in a way that wasn't quite human.

She looked sourly at him. "I'm not saying another word."

"See," Varric said, "that's the thing. You don't need to _say_ anything. We've already got you bang to rights thanks to information gleefully provided by our other prisoner. This little interview is just to help the Inquisitor decide on what kind of justice you deserve. Here's a hint. Helpful prisoners hurt less."

"Cato?" Hawke put in. "The opposite of helpful." He sighed.  "And it's looking like you're going to go the same way."

"Bet it was that bitch Nona," Cole said, voice taking on unfamiliar tone and cadence. "Never could keep her mouth shut when she should. Cato never should have agreed to bring her along."

The woman's eyes boggled at Cole, and then she sighed. When she spoke her accent was completely different. "So that's the ace up your sleeve? No wonder you know so much. Well, you'll get nothing more from me." She muttered three quick words, perhaps in Tevene, and then started to shake.

"Shit," Harding said and rushed to her, but it was too late. Blood was now dripping from the woman's lax lips, her eyes open and staring, her body still.

"Thrice damned fanatics," Hawke muttered. "Life would be so much easier without fanatics."

"We have a name. Did it come with a face, Cole?" Anders asked, one hand squeezing Hawke's shoulder.

"Yes," Cole said. "I will know her."

Well, that was something at least. "Guess the next step is having Cole check out all of the castle's servants then," Hawke said. "We should probably run that by Alistair first."

"Yes, but quickly," Cassandra said. "Before word spreads."

"No time like the present," Hawke said. "Let's go talk to Alistair about a spy hunt."

***

"So this is the capital city of Ferelden," Dorian observed as they rode through the city gates. "It's very... quaint."

He was probably being unfair, he knew. After all, Denerim had been half destroyed by the Blight only ten years before, and it took time to recover from something like that. But Dorian couldn't help it. When he thought of a capital city of a powerful country, he thought about something with a bit more style and ornateness. Denerim just seemed so... utilitarian.

"It's exactly like any Ferelden town, only bigger," Fenris said, sneering as he looked around, perhaps at the architecture but more probably at the openly curious glances they were already garnering.

"Though there's less dogs and their byproducts in the street than I was expecting," Dorian said as he grasped for something positive.  

Fenris gave him a look. "Then you must have been expecting a great deal."

"That's right – you haven't been to Redcliffe Castle. Their entire décor seemed comprised of dogs and wolves. I figured Denerim would be that, only... more."

"Maybe it was, before the Blight," Fenris said with a shrug, urging his horse around a stall selling foodstuffs that weren't meant for horse stomachs. "Or maybe they've just grown fed up with being called dog lords."

"Anything's possible, I suppose," Dorian said, pulling his horse up short to avoid trampling a group of children that ran out in front of him. "The marketplace is amazingly bustling though, I'll give it that. I suppose in the long run that's more important."

"Do you enjoy shopping?" Fenris sounded as if this was a new thought for him. "Perhaps we could come back peruse the goods once we're certain Hawke's safe." He frowned at the crowd milling around them. "I'm surprised we don't have an escort, the way they looked at us at the outer gates. I hope Leliana's bird made it to the palace."

"I have few if any doubts about Leliana's ability to arrange us safe passage. That woman is frightening in her efficiency," Dorian said. "If she hadn't, we may not have even made it into the city without causing a scene."  

"Maybe these 'discreet' emblems Josephine has made us wear are actually helping. I'm still not sure I like being marked as part of a large force."

They'd had variations of that discussion before, and Dorian told Fenris again what he had told him then. "It marks you as following and being loyal to the Inquisitor – Hawke. In that way, it's not much different than the crest of his you used to wear. Though, granted, this would probably be seen as a bit more impersonal than that by most people. But we know the difference."

"The crest was individual choice and about Hawke as a man. This emblem is a blend of seeker and templar imagery and doesn't represent Hawke at all." Fenris scowled at an old woman who didn't get out of the way fast enough.

"So it's not wearing the emblem per se that you have a problem with. It's that it isn't a proper design to represent Hawke." That... was really quite endearing, and Dorian had to stop himself from just smiling sappily at Fenris over it.

"No." The scowl was turned on him. "Well, yes, that. But also..." He sighed heavily. "It's a little too alike to slave stable branding for my comfort. I know it isn't really, but I can't seem to help the way it makes me feel. Angry."

Of course it did. Dorian was ashamed that he hadn't thought of that himself. He still apparently had blind spots when it came to slavery and the baggage it left people with. "I'm sorry," he said softly, nudging his horse closer to Fenris' though he resisted the urge to reach out to him. "I should've realised." He thought furiously, needing to redeem his lack of understanding. "Perhaps... instead of you wearing the emblem, we can find a way to attach it to some of your gear. We could even see about modifying it slightly to represent not only the Inquisition and Hawke, but you personally. Then it would be marking actual possessions of yours instead of you as a possession."

"That's... a good idea. Thank you." Fenris made a pained noise. "You're so patient with me. I appreciate it, of course, but you shouldn't have to be."

"I was just thinking the same thing about you," Dorian told him. "I've been trying, but there are still so many consequences of slavery that just haven't occurred to me... You would have every right to get frustrated with my continuing blindness."

"You're too hard on yourself, amatus." Fenris gave him a weak smile. "I know I hold some blame for that. You _were_ blind when we first met, but that changed quickly. There are things that no one can know without experience of them. I'm _glad_ you need them explained."

"I wish there was nothing to explain, but I'm glad you trust me enough to do so," Dorian replied, seriously. "And if I'm ever not patient with you when you do so, I want you to call me on it. Because being patient is the very absolute least I can do."

Fenris gave a look it was hard to translate, but it didn't seem an unhappy one, at least until he faced forwards again. "I'd swear it's taking us longer to get through this damn city than it took for us to traverse the rest of Ferelden."

"Well, that's because there's no haste spell in use," Dorian pointed out. And there wasn't about to be. He wasn't foolish enough to cast something that showy in a crowded city in the thaumaphobic south unless it was a matter of life and death. He gestured ahead where a collection of tall towers rose above the other buildings of Denerim. "But we're almost there. That has to be the royal residence."

"There's a lot of buildings between us and that big one," Fenris pointed out.

"We'll get there," Dorian assured him.

Thankfully for the increasingly impatient Fenris the crowds did thin out and they made good time the rest of the ride to the castle gates.

The guards at the gates eyed them suspiciously as they halted in front of them. "Dorian of House Pavus and Fenris," Dorian announced them. "We're with the Inquisition."

The two guards looked at each other. "Isn't that a Tevinter house?" the smaller one asked the larger.

"So, what, they're not even bothering to hide anymore? Just coming straight to the door?"

Fenris growled. "I can assure you that, were we really venatori, there'd be nothing left of you but two pairs of smoking sabatons right now. We're expected. Let us in."

Dorian sighed heavily. He would've thought that guards assigned to the king's front gate wouldn't be so obviously recipients of one too many hits on the head. Apparently he'd thought wrong. If this was the calibre of guard they had here, no wonder the Venatori had managed to infiltrate the castle.

He couldn't keep his irritation out of his voice when he tried to move them along. "So sorry to interrupt your sad attempts at having thoughts – it obviously is taking all of your concentration – but if you could just open the gate and let us in, or barring that, send for someone who actually knows something..."

"The sergeant's makings his rounds. He'll be back here soon. You'll just have to wait, won't you," said the smaller one.

"Yeah. Though might take a while, what with all the commotion going on inside right now," said the larger. It was possible the guards hadn't liked being called stupid, but Dorian would be surprised if they even understood what he had said.

"My good man," Dorian addressed the one who seemed to be nominally more intelligent than the other. "Here is what is going to happen. You are going to open that gate, and we are going to come in. With a guard if necessary, but you are going to let us in. If you don't, not only will you be responsible for a diplomatic incident between your King and the Inquisition, but you will be nursing concussions that my companion here will give you because I can assure you there is nothing that is going to keep him from getting to his friend Hawke. So which is it going to be – the easy way or the hard painful way?"

He could feel Fenris getting more and more tense beside him, especially after the mention of a commotion.

The bigger guard was starting to look worried. "They do have Inquisition crests. Maybe we should–"

"Anyone could sew a bit of cloth to their garb. If we let 'em in, and they murder someone important, you know whose heads are gonna be on the chopping block tomorrow."

"I know whose heads are going to be rolling any moment now," Fenris said menacingly, drawing his sword and turning his horse side on.

Things were rapidly spiralling out of control here. Before Fenris could actually carry out the threat of decapitation (which probably really would start a diplomatic incident), Dorian waved a hand and threw _winter's grasp_ at the two guards, freezing them in place.

"I've got them," he said to Fenris. "Go ahead and phase through the gate, and we can get through this without unnecessary bloodshed."

Fenris was off his horse in an instance, ghosting blue and passing through the wood of the gates. A few seconds later, he had the gates open. "Come on," he said urgently as he leapt back into the saddle. "There's something happening around the side."

Dorian spurred his horse forward, following Fenris through the courtyard. Once inside, he could hear what Fenris had – the sounds of a nearby battle.  

No one paid them any attention as they hurtled around the side of the palace. This was because everyone was doing the same as them – heading to the spectacle. To start with, they couldn't even see what exactly was happening in the middle of the crowd, but then a bolt of lightning seemed to hit multiple targets at once, and Fenris yelled, "Hawke!" He was off his horse and phasing through the scrum in less than a second.

Dorian was a little slower in dismounting, but the instant his feet touched the ground he threw a horror spell at a pair of men dressed as servants but armed with blades and screaming abuse in Tevene. So nice for the venatori present to point themselves out as being such.

As he waded into the battle and began to take stock of what was happening, Dorian finally spotted Hawke, standing firm with his staff spinning, casting out lightning and fire spells like crazy. Anders and Varric were both nearby, flanking him, doing their own share of fighting. Cassandra was ploughing her way through the fight like the human battering ram she could be, along with another unfamiliar man with a similar fighting style.

He could also see several Inquisition scouts as well as the royal guard in the scrum. All in all, it was really overkill for the small – and rapidly growing smaller – Venatori force, but that wasn't going to stop him having his fair share of the fun. It certainly wasn't stopping Fenris, whose shimmering blue form seemed to be everywhere at once almost.

Good. This was just what Fenris needed – an outlet for all his worry of the last couple of days. Dorian froze a couple more venatori that were in Fenris' path, setting them up for Fenris to finish.

The battle, cathartic as it was, was over quickly, with the expected outcome. Hawke leant on his staff and surveyed the aftermath with a rather self satisfied smirk. "Well," Dorian heard him say as he headed over to join him, "that was just what I needed."

"Are you all right?" Fenris demanded, pushing his way to Hawke's side.

Dorian could see Anders' face as he noticed Fenris. It was a picture. "Where in the Void did you spring from?"

"Skyhold most recently," Dorian replied as nonchalantly as he could. "Let's just say news of the attack on Hawke did not go over well with certain persons and leave it at that."

Hawke didn't seem surprised to see them so much as bemused. "I'm fine, Fenris," he said, reaching out to ruffle the elf's hair. "You didn't have to come all this way."

Dorian could see Fenris' jaw set rigid from where he was standing. "That is not what we were told," he said, each word bitten off.

"I was attacked and wounded," Hawke admitted. "Cole took out my attacker, and Anders healed me." He gestured to where Anders was standing and for the first time, Dorian noticed Cole standing beside him. His voice was softer, less flip as he repeated, "I'm fine, Fenris. I promise."

Fenris looked around at all the people watching the encounter, and with a huffing noise, stepped back from Hawke and the others. His gaze moved across the crowd again until it found Dorian, where it settled. Fenris seemed to draw strength from him, straightening up, his jaw and neck muscles loosening.

A warmth suffused Dorian's chest at that, and he moved closer, opening his mouth to say something that would pull attention to himself and away from Fenris, but before he could say anything a guard ran up, yelling, "Your Majesty! There's been an attack on the front gates!"

The unfamiliar man who had been fighting alongside Cassandra stepped forward at that. "What? Who by? How many? Details, man!"

The guard faltered a little at that. "I'm, uh, not entirely sure, sire. The men stationed there were not being particularly coherent, going on about glowing elves and Venatori magisters. But they had been frozen in place."

Dorian coughed politely. "I'm afraid that was my fault. I got distracted by the pitched battle and forgot to release them." He waved a hand, breaking the spell. "There that should take care of that."

"Wouldn't they let you in, Sparkler?" Varric asked with a chuckle.

"Dorian saved their lives," Fenris said, stepping forward again.

"Let me guess," Anders drawled, "he stopped you from killing them when they stood in your way?"

"I stopped him from killing them when they were keeping him from Hawke," Dorian corrected, a little more snap in his voice than he had really intended. "Like you wouldn't have been contemplating the same in his shoes."

"Without a second thought," Anders said with a smile at Hawke. "The things we do for you, love."

"Right," King Alistair said, because that's who the man had to be, "No invasion. Or if it is an invasion, it's on our side. Tell everyone to stand down. Also, tell those two guards that they're off gate duty for the foreseeable future." He turned to Dorian and Fenris. "Thank you for your restraint. It's always embarrassing when I lose soldiers to death by stupidity."

"Ah, don't be too hard on them, O King," Varric said with a wink. "I mean, look at these two. Would you let them in?"

"Why, Varric, are you implying that we look untrustworthy?" Dorian asked with mock affront. "I am shocked and dismayed. Truly."

"Your Majesty," Varric said, doffing an invisible hat. "Allow me to introduce this fine pair of rogues. The one who puts the rest of our fashion sense to shame is Dorian Pavus, and the overly spiky elf here is Fenris. You two, meet Alistair Theirin, king of all Ferelden."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Majesty," Dorian said, giving a perfectly executed bow. "Nice castle you have here, if one ignores the Venatori infestation."

"Hopefully we've managed to finish taking care of that," Alistair replied, gesturing at the carnage left over from the short battle. Though I will probably not eat anything that comes out of those kitchens for a good while."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "What are you going to eat instead?"

"I wasn't always king," Alistair pointed out. "I know how to cook over a fire if I have to."

"Maybe it's time to visit the Pearl," Varric said. "Isabela told me all about the place. History was made there so I understand, O King."

Dorian was amused to see a blush climbing the King's cheeks. "In my defence, I wasn't king back then. Also, it was Isabela and Elissa's idea. I just... went along with it."

Fenris actually laughed. "Is there anyone in Thedas that hasn't been involved in one of Isabela's... experiments?"

Cassandra coughed.

Dorian raised his hand. "And I feel safe in saying that would be true even if I had met her."

"If you do ever meet her," Anders said, "do yourself a favour and don't mention that. She'd take it as a challenge."

A man dressed in fine clothing appeared in a nearby doorway and drew the King's attention. Alistair sighed heavily. "As much fun as pitched battles in the kitchens have been, it appears I have to go off and do kingly things. I trust Dorian and Fenris will want to be quartered with the rest of your party, Hawke?"

"Yes, we would," Dorian answered for him. Hawke nodded in agreement.

Alistair nodded. "I thought as much. I will leave you to it then, and we'll speak later."

"Who's going to clean up the mess?" Anders said, looking around, but in truth soldiers were already dragging the bodies together ready for some kind of processing.

"Is that really all of them?" Fenris asked.

"Isn't that enough?" Hawke countered.

"I meant," Fenris said slowly, "are you sure we've got all of them?"

"Pretty sure," Hawke said. He held up a hand to forestall any comments. "Don't worry, I'm not about to let my guard down, just in case."

Fenris turned to Anders. "Is he really all right?"

Anders made a so-so gesture with his hands. "Physically, he's as good as new. That was exceptionally potent magebane, however, and my healing isn't so useful against spiritual damage."

Dorian couldn't completely suppress a shudder at that. Magebane was nasty stuff that he never wanted anywhere near him.

"He's making it sound worse than it is," Hawke insisted. "My mana levels are a little lower than usual, and a little slower to regenerate, but that just means I have to be a bit more selective with my magic for a little while. That's all."

"I'm not," Anders said quietly but firmly.

Fenris nodded, apparently prepared to take Anders word on this if nothing else.

"You do want to be careful not to overstrain your magic until it fully recovers," Dorian put in, seeing the rebellious scowl that flickered across Hawke's face. "I've heard tales about more than one mage back home who survived an initial attack with magebane but ended up with their mana reserves permanently compromised because they pushed themselves too far too fast."

He received a whole bevvy of grateful looks from Hawke's gathered followers.

"So," Varric said, clapping his hands, "now the exposing and killing venatori part of the day is over, who's up to discovering the quality of local drinking establishments? We need to find somewhere to eat, after all, if the royal kitchens are out."

"Not the brothel, please," Fenris said with what sounded like the sigh of experience.

"We make no promises," Hawke said to him. "Though the chances at us ending up at one are significantly lower without Isabela here."

"You know, she could be anywhere right now," Varric said, chuckling. "And that? Includes the Denerim Pearl."

"Don't worry," Dorian said, slipping up next to Fenris. "Wherever we end up, I will protect your virtue."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which the comforts of Denerim are enjoyed..._

They ended up in a little tavern called the Laughing Fox. It wasn't the infamous Pearl, but it had halfway decent food, and its ale wasn't watered down. They had more or less taken over the place, which made it a lot easier for Fenris to relax a little as there were less threats to track. He sat in one corner, back against the wall and watched the room and his friends.

Hawke put down a fresh tankard of ale in front of Fenris and took the chair across him. "Consider this an apology for worrying you."

He looked at the drink and then up at Hawke. "It's me who should be handing out the apologies."

To his credit, Hawke understood what Fenris was talking about. Less to his credit, he rolled his eyes exasperatedly before answering. "Fenris, there is no way what happened could rationally be considered your fault. You weren't even in the same city."

"Exactly!" he said crossly, but then immediately reined in his anger. He shouldn't expect Hawke to deal with it when it wasn't Hawke he was angry with. Looking back down at his tankard, he wrapped a hand around it and said, "I should have been."

"This wasn't your kind of mission," Hawke told him gently. Too gently. "Negotiations with a king – even one as down to earth as Alistair? That's the kind of thing that would bore you to tears."

"My boredom is irrelevant," Fenris replied, trying not to sound impatient. "I'm meant to be your first line of defence, your bodyguard. We spoke of that in the same conversation in which I stupidly agreed to stay behind. Cassandra... is a more than capable warrior, but she's not a trained bodyguard."

He sighed, shaking his head. He'd been thinking about this a lot since they reached the tavern, when he'd been told exactly what had happened.

"Moreover," he continued, "I can't see you waking Cassandra just so you can take a trip to the kitchens. You wouldn't _have_ to wake me, and I don't think my presence would seem like such an annoying constraint on your freedom either. At least, I hope it wouldn't after all this time."

"You're my friend," Hawke said. "Having you around is the exact opposite of annoying." He sighed. "But at the same time, you're my _friend_. I don't want to take advantage of that to the point where it interferes with your own life. You and Dorian, you needed some time. You _deserved_ some time. I don't regret giving it to you and I don't want you to regret taking it."

They would still have had time had they accompanied Hawke; he would simply have had to wait a short time before ordering the crafting of his gift. No matter. "In future, take me with you. Let me do my job. You're not taking advantage. Anders is your healer; that doesn't stop him being your lover too. I can be your friend and bodyguard at the same time much as I've always been, unofficially."

Hawke looked at him, sharp eyes assessing. "That's really what you want – to make the bodyguard thing official?"

Fenris didn't even have to think about it. "Yes." Then he couldn't help but laugh. "It may even make me hate this stupid emblem less."

"Don't count on that. I've got an official position, and I'm still lukewarm about it," Hawke said with a bit of a smirk, that morphed into a full smile. "But all right. You want an official position, you've got it. Fenris, official bodyguard of the Inquisitor. You're right in thinking if I have to have one I'd rather it be you than anyone else."

"I too would rather it was me than anyone else." He smiled, letting himself relax now. "I'm glad you're all right, Hawke."

"Me too. That would have been such an ignoble way to go. Killed looking for a midnight snack. I would've been a cautionary tale to the perils of eating after dinner. It would've been downright embarrassing."

"Eating is overrated," Fenris said with a slanted smile. "I've always thought so."

Hawke chuckled. "When we first met I would've sworn you survived on a diet consisting of nothing but anger, spite and expensive Tevinter wine."

"Well, I still enjoy the last when I can get it. I've been trying to persuade Josephine that it's an essential resource – crates are urgently needed for the war effort." Fenris chuckled but then sobered slightly. "I try to avoid the anger and spite now. I've lost the taste for it."

"I'm glad," Hawke said, smiling warmly at him. "Not that you didn't have ample reason to be angry, but it's good that that's not the only thing you focus on anymore." He pointedly glanced across the room where Dorian was talking with Anders and Cole.

Fenris couldn't help but smile at his oblivious lover. "You never asked how we got here so fast," he said, dragging his gaze back to Hawke.

Hawke blinked. "I didn't, did I? I guess you showing up in the middle of a battle was something so expected that I just didn't question it. But now that you mention it, that was rather fast, wasn't it? Unless you left before I had been attacked, but if you had there'd be a story there too I'm sure. So, how did you get here so fast? Did you find a less than extinct griffon in an out of the way stable in Skyhold that imprinted on you and ride it here?"

"Magic," Fenris said, frowning slightly at himself because he seemed to feel nothing but pride at that pronouncement. Being with Hawke, who had had to suffer through so much of his hatred of all things magic, really brought home how much he'd changed since leaving Kirkwall.

Hawke lifted an eyebrow. "Dorian turned into a griffon and flew you here?" he guessed. "And that is only a half joking guess. We've seen someone turn into a dragon before, after all."

"Dorian is not a witch of the wilds." Fenris found himself looking over at the subject of the conversation again. "He used time magic. _Safe_ time magic."

Dorian looked up from his conversation just then and caught him looking. One of those small genuine smiles crossed his face and caused warmth to bloom in Fenris' chest. He saw Cole say something, and Anders glanced their way as well, surprise on his face. Even across the room, Fenris saw the slight flush of embarrassment colour Dorian's cheeks, but he drew himself up to his full height and said something haughtily to Anders who let out a bark of laughter in return.

Fenris chuckled softly, not looking away. "We had a bubble of time around us... I think. The rest of the world sped by us in the other direction while we trotted on."

"I've never heard of a spell like that. I'll have to talk to Dorian, see if it's something he could teach me. It sounds useful," Hawke said. After what seemed a deliberate pause, he added, "And don't think I am not noticing exactly how bad you have it."

Fenris gave him a wry look. "There's really nothing 'bad' about what I have."

Hawke laughed. "Maker, you are so lucky Merrill is not here," he said, harking back to their conversation of the battlements before Hawke had left for Denerim. "She would be cooing over the two of you like you were a couple of adorable baby kittens."

Fidgeting a little in his chair, he told Hawke, "You make it sound so infantile. Weren't you and Anders like this before... well, to start with."

Hawke's smile turned fond as he glanced over at Anders. "I like to think we still are, but that people are just so used to it now, nobody notices." He looked back at Fenris. "And we did our time with Merrill cooing over us, thank you very much. You may have missed it because you were too busy trying to kill Anders with your glare."

"I think you hid it around me as much as you could," he answered carefully, thinking back. "For obvious reasons. There was more than one reason I scowled at him."

"I seem to recall you giving me the whole list on multiple occasions. I couldn't go anywhere with the two of you without you both bickering constantly and making truly horrifying threats that neither one of you would actually follow through." Hawke paused. "It was rather like watching Carver and myself."

Fenris stared a little disbelievingly at Hawke. "It's hardly comparable."

"Oh, you two are exactly like Carver and me. You fight like cats and dogs until the second someone else physically attacks either of you and then each leap to the other's defence," Hawke said. "You don't really like each other or get along, but you'd protect each other with your life. And you'd be devastated if something happened to the other." He pointed commandingly at Fenris. "Don't deny it."

He found himself actually trying to move away from that finger. "Only because of what his loss would do to _you_ ," he said defensively.

Hawke just looked at him steadily, with one sceptical eyebrow raised.

"No!" he insisted. "I don't... care for him or whatever it is you're insinuating. I protect him because he's yours. I respect his healing. That's it."

"It's all right to admit you would miss him if something happened, you know," Hawke told him, more serious now. "That's all part of being a family. It operates on a totally different level than whether or not you are tempted to light someone's breeches on fire on a regular basis because they're just that annoying."

Fenris opened his mouth to argue further, but nothing came out while he reconsidered Hawke's words. "Family's really like that?" he asked eventually. "I told Dorian something similar recently, but I wasn't sure I'd understood correctly what I've seen between you and Carver, or Varric and Bartrand."

Hawke smiled again, softer and fond. "Family's really like that," he confirmed. "If you don't believe me, ask Carver the next time he graces us with his presence."

Fenris was silent for a while, thinking about Dorian's father – about whom it wasn't his place to mention to Hawke – and about his own sister, whom he'd made no attempt to see since that mess in Kirkwall. "What's the point in family if you don't even like them? Why _do_ they matter?"

"I don't think it's something anyone can really explain logically. Feelings aren't logical," Hawke said. "But I will say this – it's less that they matter because they're family, more they're family because they matter."

It was true that, in a purely practical sense, Anders mattered more to him than Varania, but he really didn't see how that made the abomination his family. "I don't understand. I'm... not sure I ever will."

"Look at it this way," Hawke suggested, leaning forward over the table in between them. "The next time someone asks if you and Anders are friends, instead of denying it and then having to try to explain why you would protect him or hang out drinking with him, you just tell them that he's not your friend, he's family. Trust me, you won't have to offer any more explanations than that."

"Normally, I just say he's the lover of the man I choose to follow. That works well enough." Fenris shrugged. "It's true, however, that you are the closest I have to what I'd consider family, which might make him an 'in law' I suppose."

Hawke smiled wryly, glancing back over towards Anders. "If it wasn't for that whole pesky Chantry most wanted thing, there probably would've been a wedding by now, so that wouldn't be completely inaccurate." He turned his gaze back on Fenris warmly. "You're family for me too, you know. The kind I hardly ever have to resist the urge to set on fire."

That made him chuckle again. "Being on fire might briefly improve my ability to be your bodyguard,"

"Emphasis on the briefly."

"The blaze of glory to go down in that I've heard so much about."

Hawke pointed an imperious finger at him. "No going down allowed, in blazes of glory or otherwise," he ordered.

Fenris considered the dirty joke just waiting to be made, but decided it would seem too much like flirting. "Staying unsinged it is then." He raised his tankard in a toast and then gulped down the last mouthful within it. "In which case more beer is required. He held his hand out towards Hawke's mug as an offer to get it refilled.

"Please," Hawke said with feeling, handing over his mug.

He headed for the bar and handed the two tankards to the barkeep, leaning against the bar as he waited for refills.

Dorian sauntered up beside him. "We seem to be providing endless amusement for your friends," he told him. "You would think they had never encountered two men who fancied each other before."

"Indeed," Fenris said dryly, stepping closer to Dorian. "I'm not sure which is worse – being told the two of us are 'adorable baby kittens' or that I am some sort of sibling to the abomination."

"Hmm," Dorian said consideringly. "First of all, while I can see why a feline reference might occur to them, if anything you are a panther not a kitten. Secondly, I'm fairly certain Anders would have mentioned it long ago if one of his parents was an elf."

"I'm not sure that's what Hawke meant by it, but it's nonsense anyway." He glanced over at Hawke, who had moved tables to join the others. Surrounded by friends and with a royal honour guard, Hawke was as safe as he was ever going to be. "Would you care to share this pint with me and then take a walk?" he asked Dorian. "I'd like to see how this place differs from Kirkwall at night."

Dorian smiled at him. "I would like that very much."

***

"Accommodating of the tavern keeper, this," Anders said, looking around the small room that had suddenly become vacant with the arrival of the king, who both wanted to eat something not cooked in his kitchens and also to speak with Hawke. "I thought he was going to need urgent healing when he first saw you, Alistair."

As it was only him, Hawke and the king in the room with guards beyond both doors, Anders felt safe to use the man's given name.

"They never tell you about that part of being king before you accept the throne," Alistair said. "That your days of frequenting taverns are over unless you want to cause heart attacks amongst your subjects. And guards."

"You need to get yourself a resident spirit healer," Anders said with a smile. "There must be a spare one lying around somewhere."

"You can't have mine," Hawke immediately added.

"Technically, Elissa saw him first," Alistair pointed out. "She always did have an eye for talent."

"I'm sure we'd both be amenable to the Hero of Ferelden borrowing Anders if she needed his healing abilities," Hawke said. "Since she did save him from being dragged away by templars, back in the day."

Alistair shifted in his seat, almost fidgeting. "Actually, we may need to take you up on that offer."

"What's wrong?" Anders asked immediately, frowning. "Is she... ill?"

"Not... exactly," Alistair said, drawing the words out slowly and then he began babbling. "We thought so at first because it wasn't supposed to be possible, but then that's never stopped her before. Not that this was something she decided to do. Or decided not to do. Decided at all really. We weren't taking precautions, of course, so there was nothing stopping it except for the fact that it was impossible. Only... not so much it seems."

Anders felt his lips slowly curling into a smile. "She's pregnant, isn't she? Ah, and Maker knows where too... or do you know?"

"I do. Roughly at least. We send messages back and forth almost daily, but she's always been able to cover a lot of ground in a short time when she's motivated and I don't think she's been this motivated since we were stopping the Blight. She's always been determined to find a cure, but the baby has sped up the deadline considerably." He paused for a moment just to smile sappily. "You two are the first ones we've told beyond the healer that confirmed it."

"Congratulations!" Anders grabbed Alistair's hands in his and shook them. King or no, some things had to be done. "When can I see her? With all respect to your medic, unless they too are a spirit healer, there's only so much they can do."

"Last message she sent she was at Soldier's Peak conferring with Alvernus," Alistair said. "I told her in the message I sent back about meeting with you and the false Calling – you can't know how much of a relief it was when you confirmed it was false, by the way."

"I can imagine," Hawke said. "It was bad enough for us, but for you, it must have been-"

"Terrifying," Alistair finished with a firm nod. "Some things we just aren't willing to lose or sacrifice, wardens or not."

Anders frowned. "I should see her, Alistair, and not just because she's expecting. We have a couple of... resources who might be able to provide some useful information regards curing the blight taint. One is Fiona, who you will have heard of at least, but the other may be a surprise to you. The magister who took over Redcliffe is currently, uh, helping the Inquisition with their research. Under armed templar guard. Everything he did was because his son had been blighted, and Corypheus claimed he could help the man."

Anders shook his head before continuing. "Strongly suspect that of being bollocks – not Alexius believing him, or even that Corypheus _could_ help should he want to, but that he ever actually would have helped once Alexius had done what was required of him. _That_ was the hope of a truly desperate man. Anyway, our captive magister by himself had found a way to, hmm, hold back the blight in his son. It was progressing far, far slower than normal."

"Dorian too might be able to help," Hawke put in. "The magister in question was his mentor and he helped him with the research so he's familiar with most of it. And this is an issue that is high on the inquisition's list of problems to solve. We need a way to block Corypheus' influence over the Wardens, and if we also find a cure for the Calling, well. My brother's a warden as is my lover. It's important to me too."

Alistair looked thoughtful and suddenly much more like a king than he had a moment before. "Are you suggesting an official alliance?"

"I'm Ferelden, born and bred," Hawke said. "I know the strength at the core of this country. The Inquisitor would be foolish not to seek an official alliance." He paused. "Hawke would be foolish not to work together on the Calling issue with or without anything official. We won't withhold any information or help to you and the queen, even if we can't come to an official agreement."

"I can't see any good reason to say 'no' though," Anders said. "We're not part of the Chantry. Our ranks include mages, templars, representatives from all over Thedas, humans, elves, dwarves and even qunari..."

He paused, wondering if Alistair had been told about Iron Bull's imminent arrival. Surely he had. Anders glanced at Hawke.

" _A_ qunari," Hawke clarified. "The one that's on his way here to stand behind me and glower when Fenris needs a break. Those might not actually be selling points in some places, for some people. But I get the feeling Anders has read you right that they are for you."

"One of the group that helped us stop the Blight was a qunari," Alistair said. "He was awfully good at glowering. And fighting. But somehow it's the glowering that stands out in my memory. Probably because I've seen a lot of it more recently too. He's the Arishok now, did you know?" He shook himself. "But I'm getting off track. Terribly bad habit of mine, Elissa's been trying to break me of it for years. You're right. Those all sound like good reasons to me to ally. But the best reasons are standing right in front of me. I trust the leaders."

"Leader singular," Anders said with a smile. "Me? I'm just a hanger on."

"Doesn't matter. I still trust you," Alistair told him.

Anders wasn't sure why all things considered, but it was nice to hear all the same. He smiled a little awkwardly.

"Which shows what excellent taste and judgement you have," Hawke said grandly. "So it sounds like we have an official alliance."

Alistair nodded with a smile. "I'll have my ambassador contact your ambassador to work out all those pesky details on paper that diplomats so love having. For the personal part of this, I'm much more happy cementing an agreement with a simple handshake." He held out his hand to Hawke. "It's always seemed somehow more honest to me."

Hawke clasped it, smiling back. "I haven't actually been in a position for long that needed a lot of paperwork. I'm not sure I'd've taken the job if I'd known about how much there was beforehand."

"There's only a lot because you insist on reading it before signing it," Anders said, his smile now a smirk.

"With my luck, the first time I sign something that I don't read, it'll be the declaration of an exalted march on dogs or something," Hawke replied.

"I've found the weightier agreements make an excellent cure for insomnia," Alistair pointed out.

"I know a better cure," Anders said, looking at the ceiling innocently.

"He obviously knows that one too if Elissa's expecting," Hawke pointed out.

"Good point." Anders grinned at Hawke. Then turned a more serious expression on Alistair. "Will you ask her to visit Skyhold?"

"I will," Alistair replied just as seriously. "She'll be happy to see you again and not just because she wants a spirit healer she can trust with this."

"She does know... everything I've done, doesn't she?" He found he had to know. "Running away from the wardens with Justice _inside_ me? Losing it completely in Kirkwall and blowing up a chantry?" And everyone in it. That bit still wasn't easy to say.

"She knows. Certain... religiously inclined parties took a rather obscene delight in telling her the details as they understood them. Her response was 'And yet I would still trust Anders to have my back before I'd trust any of you,'" Alistair said in a halfway decent imitation of Elissa's speech pattern. "Then in front of them she had me swear we would offer you refuge if you ever needed it and had them thrown out of the castle." He smiled fondly. "Elissa has never brooked anyone going after those people she considers hers. That's included you since she conscripted you, Anders."

"It would be good to see her," he said quietly. He wasn't the same person now as he had been then, but the idea of Elissa meeting Hawke was a pleasant one.

***

"It probably says something bad about me that I still want to call this city quaint," Dorian observed as he and Fenris walked through the marketplace, still bustling in spite of the relatively late hour.

"It certainly seems a lot safer than Kirkwall ever was after hours," Fenris said, his head turning this way and that. "Look, there's even children running around still."

"Safe streets, I agree, are an accomplishment," Dorian admitted. "Perhaps it's just that I've spent too much time in Minrathous. There's so much history there, steeped in every cobblestone and ancient building. This place just seems so.... young in comparison.

"History isn't always a good thing," Fenris said, sounding thoughtful. "Tevinter is built on blood and slavery. I see little to celebrate there. Its architecture is indeed superior, but it too wouldn't exist without slaves."

It was a point of view that was so diametrically opposed to things Dorian had clung to his entire life that even though he felt the usual burst of shame at Fenris pointing out his blind spots about slavery, it was harder to agree fully. "So are you saying we should just raze it to the ground? Throw away everything and everyone that came before?"

"I don't remember saying that," Fenris said calmly.

"Not in so many words no, but..." Dorian looked at Fenris. "I agree that there are many things in the Imperium's past – and present – that are shameful and should never have happened. But that can't be all it was, or is."

Fenris shrugged. "I'm no historian, but the little I do know of Tevinter's history isn't good: the invention of blood magic and the mass murder that resulted from it; the destruction and enslavement of the Elvhen empire, their knowledge stolen and abused; breaking into the Fade, becoming the first darkspawn, releasing the Blight on the world; executing Andraste... It goes on. And now the Venatori seeking to restore Tevinter's lost 'glory' by destroying the rest of the world."

"The Venatori do not speak for all of Tevinter," Dorian reminded him. "That is precisely why I joined the Inquisition in the first place – to stop them. The Imperium is where civilization truly began in Thedas and as many villains Tevinter has produced, there are heroes as well. People who were better than the stereotypical evil magister, people who fought to make things better, no matter the cost to them. Perhaps none of them have succeeded enough for your liking, but they tried and that should be remembered regardless."

"I believe I did once hear about an archon who tried to outlaw slavery," Fenris said, his brow becoming creased. "They quickly assassinated him, I believe."

"Not before he managed to free hundreds of slaves, perhaps more," Dorian said, remembering who Fenris was referencing. "And yes, that's what I mean. He was a good man, if perhaps not as smart about his plans as he needed to be. My own house, House Pavus, became prominent back in the Exalted Age, when then Magister Gideon Pavus built up enough of a power block in the Magisterium that he was able to prevent the Imperium from invading the south, and to try and build alliances instead of waging war." He had, also, in the end been executed for treason, but Dorian thought, considering what had endured past his death, that Gideon had probably decided to sacrifice himself for the greater good instead of using his power to save his own life.

Fenris nodded, but didn't say anything in reply.

Dorian sighed and tried to think of how to explain why this was so important to him. "I was raised on tales of Gideon and what he did and tried to do. Stories about his integrity and his wisdom and cunning. It helped form the man I am today. History means something."

"Personal history, yes." Fenris nodded again. "Your family heritage is clearly important to you."

"It is, yes," Dorian said. "But it's more than that. How my family's heritage affects and changes the larger picture history paints of my homeland, that means something too."

"Yes, to you." Fenris' expression seemed to be growing pained. "Dorian, please, I'm not trying to... to deny your foundations. I appreciate why what your ancestor did colours your life and objectives and even the way you see your country. Let's discuss something else."

Part of Dorian wanted to keep arguing, to try and make Fenris _see_ , but a greater part of him didn't want them to be at odds. So he sighed and opened his hand, miming letting the subject drop. "What do you want to discuss instead?" he asked.

Nothing apparently, at least that's what Fenris now said. His brow was creased heavily, and while he was still looking around, still engaging in his self-imposed sentry duty, Dorian wasn't sure how much he was actually seeing.

"Fenris?" Dorian reached over and lightly touched the elf's arm.

Fenris looked over at him. "Hmm?"

"Are you.... All right?"

"I... I'm not sure."

Dorian found himself frowning in earnest now. "What's wrong? Can I help?"

Fenris shook his head, still looking preoccupied. "Hard to ask for help when what's wrong eludes me. Ah, it doesn't matter. Shall we see if that magic shop the others spoke about is still open?"

Dorian sighed again and nodded, starting to move towards the street they'd been told said shop was in, but he couldn't stop himself from shooting worried looks at Fenris as they walked.

Before they entered the shop, Fenris stopped Dorian with a hand on his arm. "Stop fretting. I'm fine. Our conversation... stirred up the muck of my past. That's all."

"You don't think that's enough for me to fret over?" Dorian shook his head, wishing now that he hadn't persisted in the discussion for as long as he had. "My apologies. I did not mean for my... passion for history to cause you distress of any sort."

"No, it didn't. I'm sorry." Obviously pained, Fenris looked away. "This isn't something you've done to me. I haven't the words..."

"You said it was your past being stirred up." Dorian took that and what they'd been talking about and guessed, "Perhaps your... lack of a past?"

Fenris shrugged. "It's true that the only heritage I have is slavery. That's the only history that exists in Tevinter for me. That might be part of it, yes. Shall we go in?" He indicated the door.

Dorian sighed as he opened the door. "Sometimes I forget that even though we both were born in the Imperium, we are from two very different worlds. That is something I need to work on remembering better."

As they walked in, Fenris said thoughtfully, "Shartan was like me, an elven warrior born a slave in the Imperium. Hawke taught me to read with A Slave's Life, thinking I'd find something positive in the tale, a role model perhaps. At the time, I wasn't sure, but now I find a lot to be respected in such a man."

Dorian found himself smiling at that. "That's what I meant – history gives us connections we may not have in our current life circumstances."

"I suppose it's possible some of his blood runs in my veins," Fenris said, walking over to look at an alchemy bench. "There's no way I'd ever know."

"It doesn't have to be blood. I daresay that your determination, your heart, your will would not be dissimilar to that possessed by Shartan. He fought with Andraste, you fight with Andraste's Herald." Dorian nodded, satisfied at the comparison. "There is a symmetry there."

"Not too much symmetry, let's hope, considering his ultimate fate." Fenris gave Dorian one of his slanted smiles.

"That's the thing about history though. You take inspiration from it, but you also learn from their mistakes so you can do better." And, Dorian promised himself, he would do everything he could to see the world do better by Fenris than it had by Shartan.

"Foundations, like I said earlier." Fenris curved up the other side of his mouth to make a symmetrical smile. "I just didn't know I had any myself at the time."

"And just think – sometime far in the future, centuries from now, some young brilliant mage or naturally gifted elven warrior will hear tales about us, and we will be their foundations," Dorian said, posing dramatically as if he was a heroic statue of himself.

Now the smile became a grin and Fenris chuckled. "We should probably get Varric writing Hawke's chant immediately to make sure the right tales only are told."

Dorian smiled back, happy to have helped Fenris shake off his earlier disquiet. "I can see it now. The Fenris Canticle of Freedom."

"Not advised for younger initiates. Much like the Peacock Verses."

"Hah!" Dorian was grinning as widely as Fenris was now. "Will they be censored for their radical content or for how many verses focus on us being naked?"

"Both, I imagine. Though if Varric is writing them, possibly more of the latter."

"I would take more offence to that idea if not for how I imagine my father would react if I were to become a well known historical religious figure equally famous for having copious amounts of sex with his male elven lover as for his reform efforts."

"Well, I'm sure he wanted his son to make a name for himself," Fenris said with another chuckle.

"Perhaps we can ask Varric to write up a first draft copy that he'd be willing to let me send to Father," Dorian mused.

"Ha! Varric would be delighted, no doubt. Especially when we offer to share all the details he'll need to tell the story well." Dorian was almost but not quite sure Fenris was being sarcastic.

"If we are going to share details, it would behoove us to practice just to make sure we have everything down," Dorian shot back, with his best suggestive leer.

"You are not wrong. We should make that a priority." Fenris nodded seriously.

"If we are to show due diligence, we should start on that right now," Dorian suggested, and this was how he knew he was truly besotted – he was standing in the middle of what was touted as one of the finest magical equipment establishments in all of southern Thedas and none of it was even drawing the tiniest bit of his attention.

Fenris looked around a little doubtfully. "Perhaps they have a back room?"

"Or we could leave and find somewhere slightly more private," Dorian counter-suggested, though he found the fact that was where Fenris' mind immediately went incredibly adorable.

"We should," Fenris agreed, moving closer. "I'm not sure how possible it will be later tonight. I'll be on bodyguard duty unless things change."

"I definitely should get all my urges to distract you out of my system now then," Dorian said, walking by Fenris close enough to feel the heat of his body as he headed back out of the shop. Once outside, he scanned the street for somewhere suitable. "There, that will do," he said, pointing at a tavern a few doors down. It didn't look quite as reputable as the one they'd left the others at, but it did look to be the type with rooms they could rent.

Fenris looked a little dubious, but he went along with Dorian without argument other than to say, "Don't blame me if we end up having to pay for a broken bed."

"If the bed looks that unsturdy, we will just have to make use of the wall instead," Dorian said with an airy wave of his hand. "I have confidence in our adaptability."

As they entered the tavern, a place that looked as if it had once served a more prosperous crowd than it did now, Fenris was already starting to get that set, determined look he got when aroused. He ignored the somewhat rowdy patrons and strode straight up to the innkeeper. "One room, now."

It was obvious enough that this wasn't an unusual occurrence for this place by the bored expression the man graced them with as coin was exchanged for a key, and by the way that the other occupants of the bar ignored them. It reminded Dorian a little unpleasantly of all the time he spent in similar establishments back in Minrathous. Those memories were dispersed with a single glance at Fenris, however. He'd found what he'd been fruitlessly searching for back then.

Key in one hand, Dorian's hand in the other, Fenris all but dragged him up the stairs, pausing only to check he had the right door at the top. "The way you make me feel," he muttered as he shoved that door closed behind them and then pushed Dorian back into it.

Dorian was more than happy to be pushed. "How do I make you feel?" he all but purred, giving his most seductive look, and sliding his hands up Fenris' chest until he could wrap them around the back of his neck.

"Like this," Fenris growled, thrusting against him. "Like all I am is desire for you. Like all my senses know is you. Like you're all I can think, feel, breathe for."

"Maker," Dorian groaned, his head falling back against the door with a thud. "The things you say..." Between Fenris' words and just the way the low growl of his voice seemed to reverberate through Dorian's chest, he was certain that one day Fenris was going to make him come just by speaking to him.

Fenris kissed him hard, then stepped back and held his arms out to the side, blazing with blue light as his garments fell to the floor. He became solid again as he stepped back into Dorian's space to kiss him some more.

"That is such a useful application of your abilities," Dorian observed in between kisses, letting his hands slide over all that newly revealed skin. He was mindful as always, however to try and avoid the lyrium markings as much as he could.

It was easier than it could have been, thanks to his magic responding to the lyrium's proximity, and he was getting better at sensing it. Fenris was getting better too at disrobing Dorian. He knew now which straps to struggle with first, at least.

The intent frown on Fenris' face as he did battle with Dorian's clothing sent a bolt of warmth that had very little to do with arousal through Dorian and he leant in and kissed him again. "Would you like me to help with that?" he asked when he pulled back. "Not that you're not doing an admirable job of getting me naked on your own."

"Do it," Fenris growled, stepping back again. Something that made Fenris' urgency very visible. "Do it quickly."

Dorian swallowed a whimper as the sight and command went straight to his cock, and spent the next minute furiously undoing buckles and straps until his robes were a disorderly pile at his feet. "Quick enough?" he asked, raising an eyebrow challengingly, more to pull additional growled orders out of Fenris than any other reason.

"Not even slightly. Come here." Fenris grabbed him and pulled him close, pressing their skin together. "Keep your hands behind your head."

"Are you going to frisk me?" Dorian asked teasingly, locking his hands behind his head, but arching his back a little to push himself more firmly against Fenris.

"If you touch my markings with your hands now, I will lose all control," he answered in a snarl, pulling Dorian over to the bed and shoving him down onto his back.

Dorian bounced a little when he hit the mattress, but the bed didn't so much as creak. "The bed seems sturdy enough," he observed, wriggling his hips as he pulled himself more firmly onto it. "So far at least. But feel free to do your best to prove my observation wrong."

Fenris moved lightly onto the bottom of the bed, moving between Dorian's legs. He put his hands flat on Dorian's hips and let them slide up Dorian's body as he bent lower, taking Dorian's cock into his mouth.

Dorian let his head fall back against the mattress, moaning at the feeling. "You are far, far too good at that," he murmured, wanting to push up into the sensation, but doing his best to hold still.

Fenris always seemed to genuinely enjoy this, closing his eyes and frowning ever so slightly as he concentrated. He slipped into an easy rhythm. Dorian was never sure if his lover was aware of this or not, but the lyrium in his skin throbbed slightly in the same rhythm.

Eventually, Fenris pulled back and looked up at Dorian. His large eyes seemed to be all pupil as he crawled up the bed to briefly kiss Dorian. "Do you want me inside you?" he asked, his voice so deep it sent shivers through Dorian.

"Always," Dorian replied, his own voice sounding wrecked. He arched his body up to get more contact, even as he pressed his hands more firmly against the bedsheets over his head. It was taking a goodly amount of will to remember to keep them there, he wanted to touch so badly, just wrap himself around Fenris and hold on forever. "Please," he begged, needing, wanting more. Wanting everything.

Fenris kissed him again and then pulled back, holding out a cupped hand. "Please."

Dorian released his iron grip on the sheets to cast the grease spell into Fenris' hand, touching his fingertips briefly as he did so. Even that simple touch was another to send another bolt of want through his body.

After quickly slicking himself, Fenris pressed a finger inside Dorian, and then another. Dorian didn't need a great deal of preparation these days, but Fenris seemed to enjoy taunting them both with how it felt, building up the pressure for _more_ and _now_.

"You're a horrid tease," Dorian panted after a few moments, his entire body trembling with need he was holding in check by the skin of his teeth. "Fuck me. Now, dammit."

Fenris wore a feral grin as he thrust his fingers a few more times, pressing over the area that made Dorian want to scream, but then he relented and left Dorian empty for no more than a couple of seconds as he repositioned and then thrust his cock in hard.

It wrenched a cry from Dorian, far louder than he usually allowed himself to be, followed by another and another with each thrust Fenris made. He was being far too loud to be discrete, he knew, but at that moment he couldn't bring himself to care who heard him, he was far too caught up in his body and the sensation of Fenris inside him, moving hard and fast.

His cries seemed to drive Fenris on, his thrusts so strong they were moving Dorian up the bed by inches. "Perfect. So perfect," he groaned. "Amatus." He moved a hand to squeeze Dorian's cock. "Perfect."

Dorian was so close that Fenris squeezing his cock was almost enough to push him over the edge. He made a sound that was halfway between a scream and a whimper, eyes squeezing shut as he rode the sensations, being reduced to nothing but his body, and Fenris' and the things Fenris was making him feel.

And then he felt the lyrium hum as Fenris, with a cry of his own, let his brands light up, sending wave upon wave of sensation through Dorian wherever they touched.

Like every time before Fenris had used his brands in this situation, the added pleasure, so intense it was almost painful, not only pushed Dorian right over the edge into his climax, but had him coming so hard he lost track of reality for a few moments afterwards. The entire world just disappeared in a white hot burst of ecstasy.

When things started making a bit more sense again, he found Fenris lying beside him, still breathing hard, his hand resting over Dorian's.

Dorian turned his hand over, linking their fingers together, then rolled just enough to be able to kiss Fenris gently. "You are amazing," he told him. "You make me feel amazing."

"It's you," Fenris replied, turning his head to look at him. "With you, like this, I feel like nothing can stop me."

"I've seen you in a fight. I'm fairly certain there's very little that could stop you with or without me," Dorian pointed out, smiling. It was, admittedly, part of Fenris' allure, if Dorian was being honest.

Lifting a hand, Fenris touched Dorian's face. "You could stop me. If you ever needed to."

Dorian let his eyes flutter close as he leaned into the touch. "It's like a dream sometimes," he confessed, his entire being overwhelmed with the way Fenris made him feel and he wasn't talking about the sex. Well, not _just_ the sex. "It's too good. You and I... that we get to have this. As much as I wanted, I don't think I believed anyone would ever look at me the way you do."

"You should never have felt like that," Fenris said with a frown. "Even when I thought you a typical altus bore, I still thought you were almost painfully good to look at. As soon as I found out that you were a remarkable and superior man, I was... lost."

"The things you say," Dorian murmured, feeling the heat of a blush on his face. He knew he was attractive, he was used to people complimenting him on his looks, and on his magic, but not on anything else. He found he was extremely susceptible to such flattery in a way he wasn't to any other.

Fenris smiled. "Unfortunately, the next thing I'm about to say isn't so pleasant: we should get back."

Dorian sighed, turning to rest his forehead against Fenris' shoulder. "As much as I might want to bask for a little while longer, I know you're right." He levered himself up onto an elbow and kissed Fenris lingeringly. "Still, a short time alone together is better than no time." Especially after the tension of the last day or so.

"Yes." Fenris sat up, sliding his legs off the bed. "I'm glad we did this." He made a sudden quiet noise and rubbed at his forehead. "It's just struck me I haven't told you something." He turned around to look at Dorian before continuing. "My unofficial role as Hawke's bodyguard is now official."

"Excellent," Dorian said, knowing that Fenris had taken on that responsibility already, whether Hawke had fully realised it or not. "That should make things easier on both of you, having it more clearly defined."

"Yes, it's a relief, but it also means that moments like this... might happen less." Fenris was frowning as he got up to collect together his armour. "Wherever Hawke goes, I will need to go too. I will understand if you don't want to always accompany us though if you do, it will make the friendly forces surrounding Hawke significantly stronger."

"Well naturally. I am _very_ good at what I do," Dorian said, with a touch more cockiness than he might have otherwise used, trying to quell the uncertainty that Fenris seemed to be having. "If there is a place for me, I will of course be happy to accompany Hawke and you whenever you both want."

Fenris gave a quick, bright smile. "Like it or not, you're part of Hawke's inner circle now. There will always be a place for you."

Dorian swallowed hard against the unfamiliar warmth of belonging that threatened to overwhelm him at that pronouncement. He cleared his throat once then warned, "If you keep saying things like that, I'm just going to have to pull you right back into bed." His actions belied the threat, however, as he got up and started getting dressed again.

Fenris, half-dressed, strode over to stand beside him. He seemed to wait until Dorian looked up and then kissed him. Dorian kissed him back, before reluctantly pulling away.

"You make it very hard to behave and be responsible sometimes," he complained.

"Good," Fenris said with a chuckle, going back to his pile of armour.

"Beast," Dorian accused, but couldn't quite keep the smile off his face as he worked on doing up his straps and buckles.

***

"Well, looks like it's time for farewells, O King," Varric said. Alistair and his men had ridden with them for a few miles after leaving Denerim, but much though Varric suspected Alistair would prefer it otherwise, he had to go back and occupy the throne some more. "Nice day for it, at least."

"You know, when we were fighting the Blight, whenever I said something like that we'd turn a corner and run right into an entire horde of darkspawn or undead or have giant spiders fall on us." He glanced around. "Does that happen to everyone, or is it just me?"

"Change darkspawn into demons and that is an uncannily accurate description of the usual journey lately," Hawke observed. "And Maker, do I _hate_ the giant spiders."

"Demons are always possible, what with the the big hole in sky. Hawke has to have closed twenty rifts or more on the way here." Varric smiled wryly. "Gotta say, the demons are beyond a pain, but seeing those holes to the Fade shut down? It's more than a little satisfying."

"That's the kind of satisfaction I wish wasn't necessary," Cassandra said, sitting tall and straight on her white stallion.

"Mending, melding, making things whole. It helps on both sides of the veil, no more people being hurt, but no more spirits being pulled through against their will." Cole paused. "I find it very satisfying."

Alistair eyed him for a moment. "He's.... a little strange, isn't he?"

"I suspect," Anders said, "that for what he is he's perfectly normal. What do you think, Cole?"

Cole seemed to consider that for a long moment before answering. "'Who's that, what's he doing, strange boy.' I'm me," he stated firmly, then a little less firmly, "But... I might be a little strange."

"Nothing wrong with being strange," Alistair hastened to assure him. "You remind me a little of a young dwarf that used to follow us around with his father back during the Blight. He was strange too, but the things he could do with an enchantment..."

Hawke's eyebrows went up. "You mean Sandal?"

"I do!" Alistair looked just as surprised. "You know him?"

"He and his father lived with me for a while back in Kirkwall," Hawke said.

"Small world, isn't it?" Varric chuckled. "Talented lad, that Sandal. Considering what he did to that piece of red lyrium, we could do with him around still. He and that arcanist that has been recruited, working together, could be just what we need."

Anders frowned. "Didn't Bodahn say they were heading for Orlais? Perhaps Josephine and Leliana could put the word out, see if they could be found."

"I'll add it to the list of 'Things I Need to Bring to My Advisors' Attention'," Hawke said wryly. "The one that is already roughly the length of my forearm."

"Delegation takes more time than they tell you it will," Alistair agreed. "It only gets really productive when your advisors get to know you well enough that they start being able to predict what you're going to ask them to do. Which, admittedly, is a little creepy when you think about it too much, but at least it's efficient."

Hawke turned his wry smile on the king. "It's nice to actually talk to someone who has an idea what all this is like."

"What – being thrown into a position of enormous political power that you neither expected nor wanted?" Alistair smiled back. "If it's any consolation, you seem to be handling it well so far. And I'll be happy to lend whatever advice I can. My unorthodox rise to the throne should do someone some good."

"It has already done all of Ferelden 'some good'," Cassandra said. "Your approach to social integration has much to be admired about it."

"That's at least as much my Queen's doing as it is mine, but thank you nonetheless," Alistair told her, complete with a little awkward half bow.

Eamon cleared his throat loudly from nearby, and Alistair sighed. "That would be my uncle's subtle way of reminding me that, however much I would like to ride off and join the Inquisition's fight, I have a kingdom to run, so this is where I must leave you."

Hawke clasped hands with him. "It's been an honour, Your Majesty."

"Likewise, Your Worship," Alistair replied. "Sorry again about the whole assassin trying to kill you in my castle thing."

"Good thing Hawke so skillfully located them for you before they could poison your whole court, O King," Varric said with a wink. Then he added more seriously, "It was good to fight alongside you again, Alistair. Stay safe."

"You too," Alistair said, trading handclasps with Varric as well.

Eamon shared some words with Connor and hugged him tightly before they came forward, and Eamon offered Hawke his hand. "Thank you for helping my son," he said, quietly. "He seems more... hopeful than he has been for a long time. More like the Connor he used to be. I can't tell you how happy I am to see it."

"He's a good kid who's had some bad things happen to him," Hawke said. "And the way the Circle teaches unfortunately kept hammering on the bad. Give him some time to find his confidence and he's going to be an amazing mage who'll help a lot of people."

"They taught him to be terrified of himself," Anders said less tactfully. "That's how prophecies become self-fulfilling. It's amazing the poor boy hasn't combusted years ago. What he really needed was knowledge and confidence-building lessons in self-control. Magic is not a curse. How society handles it is the curse."

"We're trying to provide more, different options than Circle training," Hawke said, with a wry glance at Anders. "Better ones, I hope."

"They could hardly be worse," Anders said, but then paused. "Well, remembering Kirkwall, yes, they could."

Varric coughed. "Considering you've already noticed a change in your son, hopefully you can rest at ease about him being better off as Hawke's apprentice."

Hawke glanced for a moment between Eamon and Connor and then ventured, to both of them but mostly focused on Connor, "There's a lot more I think I can teach you, but you are certainly in control of your abilities and yourself enough to make your own decisions. It just occurred to me that I might not have made that clear to you. You don't have to come back with me if you don't want to, if you'd rather stay with your family...?"

Connor immediately looked alarmed, his glance moving between his father and Hawke. "What do you want me to do?" he asked neither of them in particular.

Eamon reached out and laid a hand on Connor's shoulder. "Having you with us would bring me and your mother great joy, but more than that, more than anything, I want you to be able to make your own decisions, without anyone dictating to you what that should be. That isn't something I've been able to give you before, much as I wanted to. And I have always wanted that. I want you to do what you want to do, what you think you need to do. Whatever you decide, to stay with me or to go with Hawke, my answer is the same: you are my son. I love you, and I will always be here for you."

Connor gave his father what seemed a gratifying grin, but then he looked worriedly at Hawke. "I know you're very busy with things far more important than a single apprentice. If you've changed your mind... I'll understand, I promise."

"This is about making sure you know _you_ have a choice," Hawke told him with uncharacteristic seriousness. "And the choice isn't just follow the rules and do as you're told or risk death or tranquility. Not any more. You get to decide what you really want, what you think is best for you. If I only get to teach you one lesson, that is the one I'd choose." He paused and then grinned, "As for changing my mind, that isn't something I typically do a lot of." He gestured at the rest of the party. "Ask anyone who's known me. I'm not changing my mind. I just want to make sure you know you can change yours."

"Then I'd like to remain your apprentice," Connor said, a bit more confidently. "I don't mind how long it takes; I know you have so much to do. I think slow is what I need right now anyway."

"Well said, kid," Varric said, beaming at him.

Hawke grinned widely. "You got it," he told Connor.

"We should really get back to the castle," Eamon said. "Before His Majesty gets any bright idea of riding off adventuring and leaving me holding the bag. Again."

Alistair rolled his eyes. "That was _one_ time and it was important and time sensitive. Also, not my fault that Elissa got called away on Grey Warden business at the same time. It was her turn to sit on the stuffy throne while I had adventures anyway."

"I would be more confident you weren't about to make a break for it if you didn't refer to the throne as stuffy," Eamon pointed out.

"I call them as I seem them," Alistair retorted. "But I will point out that I was just saying my goodbyes, not scheming to runaway." He nodded at Hawke and Varric, winked at Connor, then turned and called for his guards.

Eamon looked after him, shaking his head in fond exasperation, then stepped forward to hug Connor tightly, murmuring something to the boy that Varric couldn't make out. He did hear when Eamon stepped back from him saying quietly, "I'm proud of you, son."

They all stood, almost to attention,as they watched the king and his retinue leave. Varric put his hand on Connor's shoulder and squeezed; he was rewarded by a quick smile.

Anders chuckled softly, saying to Hawke, "At least the Inquisitor gets to go off adventuring when he wants to, even if he can't do it alone."

Hawke grinned. "Thank the Maker then that my father had the good sense not to be a king."

Fenris, who'd been waiting quietly, spoke up. "I'm not sure what sense, good or bad, has to do with suddenly finding yourself in a position of immense responsibility."

"I was joking, Fenris," Hawke said. "And also being relieved that with everything shoved onto my plate, at least I don't have to deal with being the lost heir of a monarchy."

"An excellent thing to be thankful for," Dorian spoke up. "Familial positions of power are often more trouble than they're worth."

"Alistair's father seemed a good man," Varric said as casually as he could manage.

"That's the way history portrays him," Hawke agreed as they all started moving again. He glanced over at Varric, then frowned. "But that's not what you're talking about is it?"

"Not as such, no." Varric grinned at him. "Alistair gave me permission to blabber within a limited circle, should the subject come up."

"Consider the subject come up," Hawke told him. "It's a long ride back to Skyhold, a little dwarven blabbering will make the time go by faster."

"I like story time," Cole enthused, seeming to appear out of thin air again.

"Well," Varric started as he hauled himself back up onto his sturdy pony, "It all started when Isabela arrived back in Kirkwall with a proposition..."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which there is no rest for the not-so-wicked, and Anders starts a project..._

"Ah, home, sweet fortress," Hawke quipped as he and Anders made their way up the many stairs to the Inquisitor's quarters. Only about an hour after they'd made it back to Skyhold too. A time span that was longer than he'd hoped, but shorter than he'd feared to extricate himself from Inquisitorial duties that fell on him the second he rode through the gates. He suspected the short time frame was due to his advisors running interference due to the knowledge of how eventful his trip had been.

"Building work down here's got on a treat," Anders noted. "I assume we'll have neighbours soon. Is it still 'neighbours' when they're the floor below? Under-neighbours? Sub-neighbours?"

"Bodyguard neighbours." Hawke opened the door to their quarters' proper and collapsed with a groan on the couch. "Fenris has already laid claim to the quarters directly underneath us."

"Alone?" Anders asked, an eyebrow raised as he looked down at Hawke.

"I very much doubt it," Hawke said, smirking up at Anders. Watching Fenris and Dorian together on the trip back had been equal parts amusing and endearing. It was not a pairing Hawke would have predicted, but it was one that seemed to just radiate comfort and happiness in each other.

Anders shook his head. "He's such a hypocrite." The words were the predictable ones, but Anders' tone sounded almost fond. He bent over enough to kiss Hawke on the lips. "I see they've left us food as well as a roaring fire. Shall I bring it over?"

Hawke lazily waved a hand at the food in question. "Please do since I'm planning on not moving from this couch for at least the next hour barring dragon attack or the world ending." He didn't want to admit it, but he was still tiring out a little faster than normal, the last lingering effects of his exposure to all of that magebane.

Anders gave him a knowing little frown, but thankfully, he didn't say anything as he walked over to the fire to investigate the covered dishes that had been left there. Hawke watched Anders' back as his lover rearranged things to his preference, then returning to the couch with a single, large platter covered in roasted meat and vegetables and two forks.

Hawke shifted over to make room for him, a sigh of contentment escaping him when Anders settled in against his sigh. "There are advantages to this inquisitor thing," he observed, taking his first bite of the excellently prepared food. There wasn't much more he could ask for in that moment, and he was going to bask while he could.

"Bless her, but this is better than Orana's roasts," Anders agreed. "She never could grasp that not everyone had Tevinter tastes." He paused while he chewed and then said, "I hope she's all right, what with Varric not being there to watch over her now. Maybe Merrill will look after her."

"Aveline's still in Kirkwall," Hawke reminded him. "I'm sure she's keeping an eye on everyone important to us. As well as the rest of the city." He ate a bit more before musing, "If things weren't so dire, I might even suggest sending for Orana. I'm sure there's people here who would appreciate her use of Tevinter spices far more than we ever did. People who will be rooming very close to us soon enough."

Anders shrugged. "You could offer her the choice. Do it via Aveline so we can be sure it really is her choice and not what the poor dear just thinks she should be doing."

"That's not a bad idea." He rewarded Anders' good thinking with a kiss before going back to eating. 

Anders finished eating before Hawke and stretched out his legs and arms in a luxurious yawn. "I swear I'll still feel the sway of being on horseback even when asleep."

"At least it leads to different sore muscles than the usual," Hawke said. "Though admittedly, I'm not entirely sold on riding everywhere. I'm far too used to having to rely on my own two feet." He finished his food and put the empty plate down on the floor beside the couch and shifted to be able to undo the clasp in Anders' hair, then combing his fingers through it. 

He got a fairly dopey smile from Anders in reward. "I should grow my hair longer. I love your fingers in it." 

"You wouldn't get any arguments from me if you did," Hawke told him, smiling back. He loved doing this as much as Anders loved him doing it. It had always seemed to soothe them both, even at the height of the craziness in Kirkwall. Sometimes it had been the only way to get Anders to settle and relax if only for a little while. "If you grow it long enough, I might even have to braid it for you."

Anders laughed, tipping his head back against Hawke's fingers. "With little pink bows?"

Hawke grinned back. "Would you like little pink bows?"

"Let's say no, shall we?" Anders laughed again. "As the consort of the Inquisitor, a certain decorum must be expected."

"I could always wear the little pink bows," Hawke suggested, though his own hair was too short for any kind of braids or pony tails. At least at the moment. "It wouldn't be the first time. Bethany went through a phase where she liked to play with other people's hair when she discovered hair ribbons."

"I would've like to have seen that." Anders frowned slightly now. "I would have liked to have known her too. Would she have liked me?" 

Hawke smiled though thinking about his sister was always going to be bittersweet. "I know she would have. Bethany... she got all the sweetness in the family. When she smiled, it was like the sun coming out." His smile faded as he remembered how rare those smiles had become when her magic seriously manifested. "She never was comfortable being a mage, not really, not like me or Father were. She was always a little scared of what she could do, though she wielded magic with pinpoint accuracy and a finesse that not many could match. She just... didn't trust herself maybe? I think she would've got there in time, but... she never got that chance."

"Bastard darkspawn," Anders said with feeling. He turned and wrapped his arms around Hawke. "At least we saved Carver from them."

"Yeah." He wrapped his arms around Anders in return, looking across the room, but really seeing old memories. "As surly and annoying as he is, he's still my little brother. I... can't imagine what I would've done if I'd lost both Bethany and him. Mother blamed me for Bethany, did I ever tell you that? I was the family protector, and I didn't... Well. She apologised later, but I was never sure if there wasn't still a part of her that thought losing Bethany was my fault. If I had got Carver killed too, she probably would've disowned me."

"No, she wouldn't, and knowing what she was like later on, I'm sure she didn't really blame you. She just lashed out in despair. She told me once how much of your father she saw in you."

Despite the grim turn his thoughts had taken that made Hawke smile. "Now Father would've loved you," he said, picturing not for the first time what a meeting between Anders and Malcolm Hawke would've been like. "He would've admired your determination and passion and all the ingenuity you put into your Circle escape attempts." He also would've understood, far better than even Hawke had been able to, what Anders had been through and what drove him to the desperate acts he'd committed. Malcolm had lived in and escaped a Circle as well. 

"If he was as alike you as your mother thought, I would've loved having him as a father in sort-of law. Shame really, that the Hawke genes end here."

"Let's concentrate on making sure the world doesn't end first and then maybe we can talk about Hawke genes and Anders genes and carrying them on," Hawke suggested, voicing a hope he hadn't quite dared before. "No pressure though," he added quickly. 

Anders pulled back enough to give him a boggled look. "Talented spirit healer I may be, but I'm not _that_ clever!" 

Hawke chuckled. "I wasn't suggesting anything quite that radical. Just... maybe look into ways to acquire a child we could raise together. Of our blood or not, though to be able to see you in our child would be–" He cut himself off with a shake of the head. "Pipe dreams for now."

Anders stared at him for a few moments longer before relaxing back in his arms. "I really love you," he said with feeling. Then he chuckled. "You're all kinds of insane, but I love you."

"Be honest, you love me because I'm all kinds of insane," Hawke said, dropping a kiss on Anders' forehead. "It's all part of my allure."

"It just means we're a perfect pair," Anders replied, tipping his head clearly in the hope that the next kiss would land on his lips. "A perfect pair of something."

"Handsome, talented mages?" Hawke suggested, giving in and kissing Anders on the lips. He hesitated then added, " _Married,_ handsome, talented mages?"

Anders made a funny, bitten off noise, pulling back a little. "Was that a proposal, love?" he asked, sounding more amused than anything else.

"Only if you want it to be," Hawke said meeting Anders' gaze seriously. "Otherwise, we can pretend it's just my horrible sense of humour." It _was_ a proposal; it really was, but he would rather take it back than make things between them awkward and uncomfortable. They'd already done things being awkward and uncomfortable, Hawke didn't want to go back to that any time soon. Or ever.

Anders' amusement slowly fell from his face. "Your advisors will absolutely hate the idea."

"They're not the ones whose opinion I care about, not about this," Hawke said. "Do _you_ absolutely hate the idea?"

"Of course I don't!" Anders was now frowning fiercely. He took hold of one of Hawke's hands and started massaging it aggressively. "It's a pipedream. A ridiculous pipedream. Can we...? Really?"

"It was something I realised in Denerim, when we were talking to Alistair. In a lot of ways, the Inquisition makes its own rules, it has to. As head of the Inquisition, I'm pretty sure I can marry people. Even two mages. I'm... not entirely sure if I can marry myself, but I'm sure we can figure something out." He turned his hand over and linked his fingers with Anders' as he confessed, "I've wanted to marry you for years, but it was never something we could really do. Not without lying about who or what we were, at least. But now..."

"Well then," Anders started slowly, looking down at their joined hands. "I guess we can be a pair of married, handsome, talented mages in that case." He looked up and grinned at Hawke.

Hawke felt a smile slowly curve his own mouth. "That's a yes?" he asked. He was pretty sure it was, but he wanted to hear it stated plainly nonetheless. "I ask you to marry me and you say yes?"

"You haven't actually asked, Hawke," Anders pointed out, but he was still grinning. "But yes. It's a yes."

As far as Hawke was concerned, there was only one appropriate response to that and that was to kiss Anders until they were both breathless.

When they drew back from each other, Anders was wearing a doting smile. "Sometimes I find myself thinking this is all a dream or an illusion summoned up by some demon to keep me quiet. Even the bad things only happen so that it will feel more real."

"I don't think even a demon could come up with anything as crazy as 'darkspawn magister comes back from the dead, rips a hole in the sky and pulls an archdemon out of his arse,'" Hawke pointed out. "Not to mention the really unbelievable things like Fenris falling in love with the son of a magister."

Anders nodded. "Still could be a dream though. My mind is perfectly capable of thinking up both those things."

"What does Justice say?"

Anders laughed. "He says he doesn't dream and so this can't be one."

"There you go then. Straight from the spirit's mouth. So to speak." He paused before venturing, "How is he taking you accepting my proposal? He's not giving you a hard time about it or anything?" Justice had been much more accepting of their relationship in recent years, but he still had vivid memories about how much he'd disapproved of it when they first got together. If anything would bring that back up, Hawke figured this would.

Anders shrugged, looking less happy. "No idea. He's hardly said a word again since we left Denerim and wasn't exactly Mr Chatty when there. The dream thing, he said that ages ago."

Hawke turned piece of news over in his head, trying to figure out if this was new cause for concern. "Is it like he's giving you the silent treatment? Or more like he's giving you your space?"

"When we last spoke he seemed mellow enough – for him, that is." Anders shrugged again. "I worry that protecting me from Corypheus is taking all his concentration, but Cole says Justice is happy to do it. He sees doing so as a suitably justice-y occupation."

"Have you tried talking to him and not got an answer? Or is he just... distracted?" Hawke asked, trying to get an idea of the way Anders and Justice currently were. It had changed over the years he'd known them, more rapidly since they left Kirkwall behind.

"Sort of," Anders said, obviously hedging.

"Sort of?" Hawke repeated.

"Well, not directly as such." Anders stared at his hands.

Hawke gently laid a hand against Anders cheek, not forcing him to look at him so much as a reminder he was there. "Why not? Are you afraid he won't answer if you do?"

Anders did look up and nodded, looking glum. "We've been separating so much since we left Kirkwall, I'm afraid one day I'll wake up, and he'll be gone."

There had been a time when that would have been among Hawke's most fondest wishes, when Justice had seemed to be consuming Anders. Even now, he still didn't think it would necessarily be a bad thing if Anders had his head all to himself again. But it was obvious that Anders didn't feel the same way and that was more important than his own feelings on the matter. "Talk to him, love," he suggested. "Let him know that's what you're afraid of. Tell him," Hawke smiled faintly, "that it would be an injustice if he ever left without at least saying goodbye first."

"Maybe later," Anders said. "This is our time, not his. Shall we go to bed?"

It was easy enough to let the subject go for now, especially in the face of them just getting engaged. "I suppose," Hawke said with an exaggerated sigh. "It was a long ride, and we should get some rest." He paused. "After we have lots of celebratory sex, of course."

"I'd worry if we didn't." Anders slid his hand up Hawke's thigh. "I mean, you do hear things about married life changing relationships, but not this one, thank you."

"As Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste, I decree that getting married is only allowed to change our relationship for the better," Hawke said in his best Champion voice, running his hand down Anders side and coming to rest on his hip possessively.

"Well, that's told us," Anders said with a laugh, leaning in to kiss Hawke thoroughly.

***

Anders woke to the morning sun, which was slicing through the gaps in the drapes to illuminate the room in bright bars. Hawke was still sprawled asleep beside him, face down, a leg and an arm thrown over Anders, comfortingly heavy. 

So, he was to be a married man soon, Corypheus permitting. That was... hmm. Unexpected, gratifying, mystifying and wonderful, all at the same time. He would never understand how he'd manage to win and keep Hawke's heart despite everything, and he'd never stop being thankful for it.

He turned and smiled at his sleeping lover, moving his free hand to push some hair away from the corner of Hawke's visible eye. "Love you," he whispered. 

Almost absent-mindedly, he started to let his awareness move through Hawke's body, checking for any healing needed. It was such a reassuring thing to do that it lulled him, and he was almost asleep again when a loud banging came from the door at the bottom of their staircase.

Hawke woke ready for battle, going from dead asleep to wide awake all at once, muscles tense and magic coalescing around him. He relaxed slightly as he sat up and looked around, taking in his surroundings and what it was that woke him.

"This better be important," he muttered, glaring in the direction of the door. He got out of bed, pausing to kiss Anders thoroughly before stalking across the room naked. He grabbed a pair of breeches from beside the couch where they'd been discarded the night before and quickly put them on before heading down the stairs to answer the insistent banging on the door.

With a sigh, Anders followed, at least to the top of the stairs where he paused to wrap his long coat around himself like a robe.

Below him, he heard Hawke yank the door open and bark, "What?"

The "Message for you, Your Worship," reply was tremulous enough that Hawke sighed loud enough for Anders to hear him from the top of the stairs.

"Thank you," Hawke said, sounding much kinder, and Anders imagined it was accompanied by a contrite smile.

Then Hawke was coming back up the stairs, frowning as he looked at the piece of paper he'd been given.

Standing back to let Hawke pass, Anders asked, "No day off then?"

"Even worse. It's from Carver. We're going to have go out again right away." Hawke passed the paper to Anders. "My little brother is half a country away and still finding a way to cockblock me."

Anders skimmed through it. "Why can't he just tell us whatever this mystery something is in this letter? Why do we have to traipse all the way out to Crestwood of all places? Have you ever been there? The place is just like Redcliffe only smaller. Lots, lots smaller. Does he just want to make sure we're as miserable as he is?"

"That isn't impossible. This is Carver we're talking about, after all," Hawke said. "But... more likely there's something there that he thinks I need to see, and he's just too stubborn to tell me what it is before I get there."

"Or he doesn't trust our message bird system," Anders pointed out as he used a brief pulse of magic to make them both clean and sweet-smelling. "We can't leave immediately anyway. The horses need to rest."

"I'll need at least the morning to organise everything, and check in with the advisors," Hawke said, giving another long sigh. "Meetings. Hours and hours of meetings." He looked at Anders mournfully. "I had an entirely different kind of meeting planned for this morning."

Anders didn't feel any happier about it than Hawke, but he knew his job here was to be supportive. "I know, love, but we're only postponing, not cancelling, and at least we have last night to keep us going. Who do you want me to share the bad news with while you're in the meetings? Fenris, I assume is a given, but who else do you want to come along?"

Hawke was still frowning but now it was one of deep thought. "Well, Dorian is practically a given with Fenris. Plus Felix is probably with Carver so he'd probably want another chance to see him." He paused. "Not Varric. He's been in the thick of this as much as I have been since it started. One of us deserves a break. Iron Bull maybe. He was a surprisingly comforting presence on the way back from Denerim, and he has enough skills at bodyguarding that Fenris might actually deign to trade off shifts with him."

"And they seem to like each other, or at the very least respect each other's skills," Anders said, starting to get properly dressed. "I wonder how Dorian feels about him. Bull's not what I'd expect from either Tal Vashoth or Qunari proper. If anything, he reminds me a lot of Isabela. Only, you know, huge, gruesome and male."

Hawke grinned at him. "He reminds me of Isabela too, ironic as that is. He's got the same in your face attitude as she does. And if gossip is even half right, he's slept through about as much of Skyhold as I would've expected Isabela to have by now."

"Really?" Clearly, Anders had fallen behind with local gossip. "That's impressive of him. Anyone I know?"

"Off the top of my head, the barmaid that looks a little like Nora, but with red hair and the stable hand that looks like he literally just climbed off the back of a turnip cart," Hawke said. "There was a whole list in the last of the reports Leliana gave me before we headed off to Denerim."

"That stable hand is tiny!" Anders shook his head in wonder. "Maybe I should surreptitiously hunt him out and see if any healing is required."

"Not that that would be an awkward conversation at all," Hawke said snorting, then pitching his voice into a recognisable imitation of Anders. "Don't mind me, I'm just passing by, checking for any bull riding injuries."

"I don't need to talk to the poor lad," Anders said, laughing. "Providing he's not magic sensitive, he'll have no idea I'm showing an unhealthy interest in his intimate areas."

Hawke snorted in amusement and crossed over to kiss Anders. "Why don't you go do that, and inform the others of our impending departure while I subject myself to the delight that is a morning meeting with my advisors and dealing with all the issues they want me to deal with. Then we can meet back here and you can show an unhealthy interest in my intimate areas? Then we can get an early night and leave first thing tomorrow."

"I'll tell the stable foreman and the kitchens too." He turned and headed for the stairs. "Oh, and love, I _always_ have an unhealthy interest in your areas, intimate or otherwise."

He left to the sound of Hawke's laughter, descending the stairs and heading out into the main hall. It was still early enough that there weren't many people about, and none of the ones that were spared him a second glance as he crossed the large space, heading for the gardens and the stairs leading to the rooms overlooking them.

There were interesting noises coming through Dorian's door when Anders reached it. To, he thought, his credit, he tried very hard not to feel any evil joy as he hammered his fist on the wood. That didn't mean he succeeded.

The interesting noises were replaced with loud swearing in Tevene. "Unless someone is dying, go away!" Dorian called out crankily.

Someone was always dying somewhere, Anders thought with a shrug. He pounded even harder on the door and didn't stop until it was opened by a clearly furious elf clad only in lyrium tattoos. A clearly furious elf who grew even more clearly furious when he saw who it was.

"You have five seconds to give me a good reason why you're here. Otherwise you're dead," Fenris snarled.

Anders uttered the magic words, "Hawke sent me," and tried to peer around Fenris to the bed. "Good morning, Dorian," he called out. 

"Well it _was_ ," Dorian called back testily. Anders felt a surge of magic from Dorian's direction and smelt material burning. A few seconds later, Dorian appeared beside Fenris, hair mussed, moustache askew, with a sheet around his waist and the remnants of what looked like a silk scarf wrapped around his wrists, the ends all singed. The mage met his gaze haughtily as if daring Anders to comment on it. 

Anders did his best to repress his smile both at the singed scarf and at Dorian's wanton dishevelment. "Sorry to disturb you from what looks like it was... a lot of fun, but a raven came. We'll be setting out again in the early hours of tomorrow morning, so you have less than a day to prepare."

"What did the raven's message say?" Fenris said, giving Anders a nice view of his bum as he retreated back into the room and started picking up garments from the floor.

"It was from Carver. He's in Crestwood and has an undisclosed something that is both urgent and vitally important to discuss with Hawke in person." Anders, now able to see into the room, noticed that the matching half of Dorian's fetching silk bracelet was attached to the bedframe and still smoking. He put a hand to his mouth to hide the grin.

Dorian frowned. "That is frustratingly vague. Are he and Felix in danger?"

"For Carver, that was forthcoming, believe me." Anders shrugged. Dorian really was very pretty undressed, highly muscled with smooth skin almost completely lacking the scars that most of them had. "As for danger, well, they're Grey Wardens. Danger's part of the deal."

"Avert your eyes," Fenris growled, now glaring at Anders. "Dorian, get dressed."

"Says the elf who answered the door completely naked," Dorian said, rolling his eyes, but glancing at Fenris fondly nonetheless. "I at least grabbed a sheet." He did though begin to gather up clothing, some from the floor, others from the small chest set against the wall, impressively all without losing the sheet. "If that's considered forthcoming," he said to Anders, continuing the conversation, "I'll suggest to Felix that he handle correspondence in the future. Perhaps then we'll get something more detailed than 'come at once, I have something to tell you'."

"Excellent idea," Anders agreed amiably. "And by the way, I've seen Fenris naked far too many times to find the sight remotely intriguing. Anyway, I'd better get on. I have a few more people's mornings to ruin yet."

Dorian snorted disbelievingly. "Like anyone could see Fenris naked and not find the sight intriguing." He waved a hand at Anders dismissively. "Go, take your delusional rain cloud ways somewhere else. You can tell Hawke we'll be ready to go when he is and will be available if he wants to talk to us before we leave."

Anders gave Dorian a genuine smile before he left, but he couldn't help spoiling the moment by rubbing the wrist of one hand with the other and saying, "Let me know if I can ever help you with any friction burns you may experience. You know, chaffing, that sort of thing." 

Dorian flushed slightly at that, but didn't miss a beat. "If it's done correctly, any friction burns just add to the experience," he said. "I'm surprised you don't know that." Then he drew himself up to his full height and pointed imperiously at the door. "Out. Now."

Anders just laughed.

***

Dorian only relaxed from his defiant position when the door closed behind Anders. "That man enjoyed that far too much," he sniffed.

"He's not a man. He's an abomination," Fenris said gruffly, doing up the strap of one of his bracers. "Ignoring him works best."

"Oh, is that what all that growling about averting his eyes was?" Dorian teased with a smile, letting the sheet drop and crossing the room to stand in front of Fenris. "Ignoring him?" In truth, Dorian loved that Fenris had become all possessive and protective. But he was still going to tease him about it.

Fenris scowled, putting an armoured arm around Dorian to pull him close. "He was openly ogling you. It was... disrespectful."

"Can you blame him?" Dorian rested one hand on Fenris' shoulder and gestured at himself with the other. "When presented with a work of art like this, how is he not supposed to ogle?"

Fenris let him go and turned away. "Not him, Dorian. I don't care who else you want to show off to, but not him."

Surprised, Dorian nonetheless immediately dropped all teasing. He touched Fenris' shoulder gently. "You're the one I'm with, amatus. You're the one I love. Not him. Even if he wasn't already..." he trailed off, figuring out what this might be about. "Ah."

"I'm sorry." Fenris sounded miserable. "I know I don't own you. I've no right to tell you what to do."

"Perhaps not, but you have every right to ask me to stop doing something that's hurting you," Dorian said softly. "In fact, please do. No flirting with Anders, even in jest. I promise."

"Thank you. You shouldn't have to make that promise. I'm being a fool, I know." He turned around and met Dorian's gaze. "But thank you."

"Hearts are foolish things," Dorian said. He leant in and kissed Fenris lightly. "I'm not Hawke. For the record, Anders tempts me not at all. Even if you temporarily lost all sense and broke it off with me and Anders was suddenly inexplicably available and willing, nothing would happen between us." Even more so now that he realised how much that would hurt Fenris, how much Hawke and Anders getting together had obviously hurt him.

"I would have to have lost my head, not just my sense, to do something that stupid," Fenris said with a snort. It might have been Dorian's imagination, but Fenris already seemed to look happier having had that reassurance.

"Indeed, and since you have never struck me as lacking intelligence, we have nothing to worry about," Dorian said with an encouraging smile.

Fenris reached up and played with Dorian's moustache, fixing it maybe. "I'm unsure if this is the right time or not, but I have something to show you. It's a gift in a way."

"A gift?" Dorian exaggerated his eagerness in an effort to pull a smile from his lover. "Allow me to confirm that it is indeed the right time for gift giving. That, in fact, the answer to the question, 'Should I give Dorian a gift right now?' is always going to be, 'Yes, you should.'. Spoiled altus, that I am."

Fenris chuckled but still looked oddly shy as he turned to where he had dumped his saddlebags last night. "It's for both of us really. It was waiting in my room when we got back. I haven't had the chance to give it more than a glancing look myself yet, but it seems to be what I ordered." He paused, crouching at his bags, his back to Dorian. "It's okay not to like this."

"You have my curiosity piqued," Dorian said. "To put it mildly."

Fenris stood and walked back to him, holding something small in his hand, which he held out to Dorian. Whatever it was, it was wrapped in purple silk.

Dorian looked from the silk wrapped item to Fenris' nervous expression and back to the item before reaching out and taking it. Whatever it was, it was light, but hard and unyielding when he ran careful fingertips over it. With one last glance up at Fenris, Dorian unwrapped it.

It was a tiny silver shield, a crest, but not an insignia he recognised. The background was a rich blue-green enamel, and the intricate design upon it was of a peacock in full display, a guardian snake curled around its feet, hissing at whatever threatened the bird.

"It's for me to wear," Fenris said hurriedly. "If it won't embarrass you."

For a long moment, Dorian stared at the exquisite thing, completely speechless. He had known that Fenris was working on a crest, thanks to his shamelessly eavesdropping, but he hadn't been expecting _this_. 

He had come from a life where displaying your family crest was something you did, something that connected you. With everything that had happened, he felt disconnected from the Pavus crest and ambivalent at best at displaying it, to the point that he'd stopped doing so several years ago. He'd even sold his family amulet in order to afford the journey south. He'd ignored whatever feelings of disconnect that had left him with, accepting them as just another part of the burden he had to bear to be himself.

To look down and see a new crest now, that was so obviously him in a way his family crest hadn't been, knowing that Fenris had a hand in the design, and that it connected them in a way the Pavus crest had never really managed to connect him to his family... well, he thought he could be forgiven for not being able to find words for a moment or two.

"Ah, I see," Fenris said, sounding oddly flat compared to the maelstrom of emotion Dorian was experiencing. "Please, let me take it. I'll ensure you never have to see it again."

"Don't you dare," Dorian blurted, pulling the crest close, holding it tightly against his chest so Fenris wouldn't be able to snatch it away, not before he could explain. 

Fenris tipped his head to the side, a bewildered expression now forming on his face. "I don't understand. You like it?"

"Like it?" Dorian laughed, shaking his head. "This is one of the most exquisite things I've ever seen. That you had it made for me, and that you want to wear it..." He shook his head again, disbelieving laughter bubbling up from the fount of joy that Dorian now seemed to possess. "I don't just like it. I love it. How could I not? It's perfect."

"It is?" Now Fenris managed a smile, though he still looked like he was expecting Dorian to change his mind at any moment. "Felix gave me the idea about the snake. I hadn't noticed before he said it how often that motif appears on your clothes."

"It was something I started wearing when I decided I wasn't going to pretend I'm something I'm not," Dorian explained. "A symbol of shedding the old lies in exchange for the truth."

"I hope the peacock is acceptable when combined with the serpent," Fenris said. Then he frowned and spoke slowly as he continued. "It felt like you to me. A... glorious display that mesmerises, but underneath, something far more potent, more dangerous." He shook his head. "It's hard to find the right words." 

"On the contrary," Dorian said, his voice going husky with suppressed emotion. "Any righter and you'd reduce me to a blubbering mess. No one has ever done something like this for me. No one has ever _seen_ me so clearly."

Fenris seemed to be able to hear the emotion in Dorian's voice because he stepped closer and put a hand on Dorian's arm. "I'm glad you like it." He snorted softly. "That's an understatement."

" _Like_ is an understatement," Dorian assured him. He pulled the crest away from his chest now that he was no longer worried about Fenris snatching it away and looked down at it again. "I know you made this one to wear yourself, but... would you mind if I used this design as well? On a ring perhaps or an amulet?"

"I'd like that," Fenris said immediately. "You may already know the craftsman I used. Felix put me in touch with him. He's located in Orlais."

"Remind me to thank him when we catch up to him and Carver in Crestwood," Dorian said, idly tracing the outline of the peacock with a finger. He looked back up, smiling at Fenris. "We should do whatever we need to do to prepare to leave tomorrow quickly, so we can come back here, and I can also thank you properly for this."

"Let me attach it to my belt. I want it secure." Fenris paused as if reconsidering. "Or would you like to fasten it?"

Dorian felt his smile get softer at that, and he knew he must be grinning at Fenris like a besotted idiot just then. He couldn't bring himself to care. "I would like that very much."

With a smile at least half as besotted as Dorian's, Fenris unbuckled his belt and passed it over. "I asked for a simple metal bracket to slide the belt through. I thought any kind of mechanical fastening would be less secure."

"And with all the spinning and jumping and lunging you do when you're killing people, we would want it to be as secure as possible, I agree," He quickly slid the belt through the back of the crest, frowning a little as he tried to position it in the same place he remembered seeing Fenris wear Hawke's family crest when they first met.

With an amused expression, Fenris lifted his arms out straight.

Feeling slightly absurd, but finding he didn't really care, Dorian buckled the belt around Fenris' waist. "The brave warrior having his sword buckled on by his true love. Almost like something out of a children's tale," he teased. 

Laughing, Fenris said, "I think you're meant to give me a silk handkerchief to wear in that case."

Dorian raised an eyebrow at him, crossing his arms over his chest. "Did you use that line on Hawke to get that scrap of orange you used to wear?"

Fenris frowned and then looked sheepish. "No. I, uh, stole that."

A sheepish Fenris, Dorian thought not for the first time, was an adorable Fenris. He leaned in and gave him a quick kiss, then walked back over to the chest where he was keeping his things, rummaging until he found a handkerchief that was close to the same shade of blue used in the crest Fenris had had made. Turning back around, he held it out to Fenris with a, "Never let it be said I didn't do my part to discourage a life of crime."

Fenris took it with a laugh. "We're getting low on these now you've taken to burning yourself free. You'll have to order some more." He tied the cloth around his wrist, using his teeth to help tie the knot. 

"Perhaps _I_ should take up a life of crime then," Dorian teased, trying not to smile in an overly creepy, possessive way at Fenris wearing _his_ colours. He hadn't realised it was going to have such an effect on him.

"No need. I'm actually getting paid now, for doing what I was doing already." Fenris ran his fingers over the crest on his belt and nodded to himself.

"You can be the one who orders the next batch of silk handkerchiefs then," Dorian said, ignoring the urge to ravish Fenris where he stood. "Perhaps some in black and silver so that I could add one to my usual attire as well."

That made Fenris look up. "Are those my colours?"

"Those are the ones that jump most easily to mind when one thinks about you," Dorian said. He gestured at Fenris' armour. "I don't think I've seen you wear another colour than black, and it contrasts wonderfully with your hair and your markings. Perhaps throw in a little blue tinge for when you use your markings, but yes, silver and black would be the colours I would choose for you." 

"Good. This is all... very satisfying." Fenris smirked then. "Among other things."

"Things that are making it hard to continue getting dressed," Dorian agreed. "Pun intended."

"I prefer you undressed," Fenris said, still smirking. He stalked towards Dorian.

"Don't we have to... do... things?" Dorian asked, trailing off as he couldn't actually think of anything specific.

"We absolutely have to do things," Fenris replied, grabbing hold of Dorian in such a way that what those 'things' were was absolutely clear. "Things that were interrupted by an idiot earlier."

"Ah. Yes." Dorian gave up trying to be the responsible one and pressed himself closer to the elf. "We should definitely get on that. Right now, in fact."

"Indeed," Fenris said, manoeuvring Dorian backwards towards the bed. "Now, where were we?"

***

Anders found Fiona in the library, just standing there, staring out over the railing. "Time on your hands, Grand Enchanter?" He asked with a smile.

"Well, yes... and no." She gave him a small smile. "You could argue that there is a great deal I should be doing, but none of it is well enough defined or urgent enough to give me a clear sense of where to employ myself."

"In that case, consider me the bearer of glad direction. I have a proposal for you."

She raised an eyebrow. "For me, or for the mages I'm still attempting to lead?"

"For you personally," Anders said. "I'd like you to join a research council I'm setting up – as a key member, in fact. We're to research a cure for the blight, sickness and taint. I know that's been tried before and failed, but we're in a unique position here to collect together all past research as well as many people with brilliant minds or relevant experience. You'd be both those latter two things, by the way."

Fiona didn't look very surprised. "I understand the urgency even if I have little hope you'll succeed. It's worth every effort, I believe."

"Then you'll join my council?" Anders asked eagerly. 

"How could I not?" she asked wryly, and his smile dropped.

"It was an invitation, not a summons. You're not a prisoner here."

"I know," Fiona said with what seemed a pained smile. "I meant how could I not agree to such an intriguing request? You were a figure akin to myth amongst the rebel mages, you know."

Anders pulled a face. "Myth is just another word for lie; you did far more for us. I blew up a building and killed innocents who had nothing to do with our oppression, but you, you _led_ the mages. You made the hard decisions. You persistently forced votes, as I understand it, until outrage at Templar actions overwhelmed fear, and you won your revolution. _Our_ revolution."

"So effectively killing far more than you did in Kirkwall."

It wasn't that she was wrong about that, but, "Better to die fighting than helpless during the Rite of Annulment, which was happening all over by that point. It's what got you the support you needed, even from the loyalists."

He and Hawke had followed her progress pretty avidly, if inevitably belatedly, in their hut in the Wilds.

"Winning that vote seemed such a victory at the time." Fiona looked down. "But the Templars are a trained fighting force, trained specifically to combat mages, whereas most of us were more at home in a library than a field, let alone a battlefield. We knew nothing of tactics and strategy. Even I, with my Warden experience, was ill-equipped for what faced us. All too often, we were slaughtered out of hand until all the choices open to us were bad ones."

"I know that feeling," Anders said wryly. He heaved a great breath and moved on. "Unfortunately, I will be leaving Skyhold in the early hours of tomorrow. Hawke's been called to deal with Warden matters in Crestwood. But if, in the meantime, you'd care to gather together as much information as you can, we can have the first meeting as soon as I return." He paused, frowning. "How, uh, how well do you think you might be able to work with our captive magister?"

"Alexius?" She looked momentarily surprised, but then realisation seemed to dawn on her face, and she nodded. "Yes, his research could be useful, if only as a cautionary tale. I have been assigned to watch over his work since the Inquisitor's judgement. He seems a changed man since his son survived the Joining. He's keen to appease the Inquisition, who have effectively done what he could not. Unless that changes, I don't think I'll have problems working with him."

"Good. Excellent, in fact. I might not have time to speak with him today. Feel free to do so on my behalf if I don't."

Fiona smiled slantedly. "I can do that. If he asks, does he have a choice in this?"

That made Anders frown. "Not really. Hawke freed him from the dungeons for precisely this sort of thing, after all. Would he really refuse though when this could save Felix from the blight forever?"

"Probably not." Fiona nodded. "I, uh, should warn you that I have little but questions myself over my recovery from the taint. I have a 'most likely' answer, but that's all it is."

"Which is?" Anders asked, instantly curious.

She frowned slightly and then said, "Come." Heading through a nearby door, she led him out onto the balcony that overlooked the main hall, and then through the glass doors that led to the smaller balcony outside. She put her hands on the railing and stared out at the roofs and battlements. Anders moved beside her and did the same.

"I was wearing an amulet," she started, "a black brooch, at around the time of my cure. It had been given to me by the First Enchanter of Kinloch Hold, Remille, who unbeknownst to us was allied with–" she sighed heavily "–the Architect."

That caused Anders' eyes to open wide as he turned to her. " _The_ Architect? Tall, well-spoken, ribcage made of gold over where his actual chest should be?"

"That's the one," Fiona agreed with a nod. 

"You mean to say the Wardens already knew of his existence before all that business in Amarathine?" He shook his head ruefully. "Just how many other secrets are they keeping even from their own men?"

"A great many, I suspect," she said somewhat grimly. "To continue, Remille had made the amulets with knowledge granted to him by the Architect. We were told the amulets would protect us from being sensed by darkspawn as we ventured into the Deep Roads, which they did, but in fact, their main purpose was to speed up the progress of the taint within us. I believe the Architect was trying to make us into a kind of intelligent ghoul to aid him in his... plans."

"But that somehow led to you eventually being cured?" Anders asked, more confused than dubious.

"When the brooch was gone, I started to recover from the taint, and I didn't stop recovering until it was all gone. The brooch was one of my unique circumstances at the time. There were others, but they seem less likely as a cure."

This was a lot to take in. He needed time to think about it, to discuss it further. Time he didn't currently have. "You spoke as if others had the amulets too."

"We all did, but only I and one other warden survived to see the surface again, and he'd been protected from his amulet's effect by another enchanted item he held. It may be that the amulets could have cured the others too if they had made it. We'll never know."

"Do you still have this brooch?" An obvious question under the circumstances.

She shook her head. "My superiors took them. As far as I know, they're still hidden away in Weisshaupt somewhere. A pity. The Architect obviously had some control over blight taint. He manipulated it as we mages would the elements, as if the taint was similar in some basic way to fire, ice, and lightning. The brooches used this power."

"I suspect Corypheus of having much the same blight magic." He shook his head. "I bet those bastards at Weisshaupt locked the brooches up and threw away the key, having never even examined them. The idea of a permanent cure for blight taint would seem to threaten their very existence, let alone their power." He sighed, shaking his head again. "You said you had other unique circumstances?"

Fiona looked uncomfortable, shifting about where she stood. "I'm not sure you have the time for the whole story now. But in brief, during some of the time I wore the amulet, my body was possessed by a demon while my mind was trapped in a Fade illusion. Also, I was possibly with child at the time. I can't know for sure as I don't know exactly when the cure took place."

Anders raised a brow in surprise. "Well, a Warden pregnancy is rare, but not unheard of."

She nodded. "I know. And never previously has it led to a cure and complete immunity to the blight taint, and you yourself would seem to be proof that possession doesn't cure it."

His brow lifted higher at the first thing she'd said and he ignored the second for now in order to ask, "Immunity?"

She snorted softly. "The Wardens put me through the Joining again. It didn't work; it didn't even make me ill. That's when they threw me out of the order. As far as I know, I can no longer be blighted at all."

"Bastards. Typical." He paused briefly, considering, then added, "Well, unless you wanted to leave."

!I did not," she said flatly, but then conceded, "In some ways, it came as a relief. So many seemed to believe I'd cheated death and resented me for it."

"What happened to your child?" he asked gently.

"I couldn't keep him while I remained in the order, and once they removed me, it was too late really. He was already settled where he'd been fostered and knew nothing of me or even that he was half-elven. It was for the best."

For him, possibly, but he doubted it had been the best for her. Her posture when she spoke of him was hung with sorrow. "I'm sorry," he said.

She gave him a small smile. "It has been long indeed since I spoke of these matters. I think I'd like to stop for now. Perhaps when you get back...?"

"Of course. I'm sorry to have stirred the grave soil of the past."

"Don't be. If we can succeed where others have failed and make this cure, it will all be worth it. Take care on your trip to Crestwood. The Wardens may have cast me out, but I still have friends within their ranks. I hope you can help with whatever it is."

"Me too." He nodded back and turned to leave, but then looked back before he did so. "Thank you. I'm looking forward to working with you, Fiona." It was the unadorned truth.

After he'd gone back through the door into the library, he stopped and took a deep breath. That had proven far more informative already than he'd been expecting. Fiona had obviously led a very interesting life, that he'd very much like to know more about, although he supposed, for now, he should concentrate on the aspects of it that linked to their research.

Right, one powerful elven mage done, one still to go.

After reaching the floor below, Anders turned in a circle admiring Solas' huge and ongoing mural. "So what prompts you to chronicle Hawke's adventures in paint?" he asked the artist in question.

"Varric already laid claim to words?" the elf answered with a slight smile and a raise of one eyebrow. He put down his paintbrush and wiped his hands on an old cloth. "What can I do for you, Anders?"

"Oh, I was wondering if I could interest you in a proposition." Anders told him with a grin. When that produced no reaction beyond that eyebrow being raised a little higher, he chuckled and elaborated. "I'm putting together a research council to look into the increasingly urgent issue of being able to cure blight taint. You seem to have an impressive breadth of knowledge. So much so that, even if you know little about that particular subject, you'll still be more than useful. We need to come at it from all angles."

"Interesting," Solas said. "Is the aim to cure your Warden taint?"

"Not just mine. A cure would benefit everyone. Ferelden, for instance, would benefit from a king not due to hear the genuine Calling anytime in the next decade." And from a healthy, taint-free heir, but he couldn't really mention that. "And Wardens are nothing but a danger while Corypheus can control them at will; I'm certain I'm not the only one he's tried that with." 

"If the taint becomes curable, does that not remove the need for Wardens in the first place?"

That drew a wry smile from Anders. He'd noticed before that Solas seemed to feel about the Wardens the way Anders did about templars. "Well," he said, "there's still the need to stop any archdemons that decide the surface lands are prime new territory. That requires at least one full warden, but maybe our research could ultimately help there too. Who knows?" 

He shrugged, thinking about what he'd said to Fiona about Weisshaupt fearing what a cure would mean and only now realising just how much of a threat it would be.

"With a cure sufficiently easy and cheap," he started slowly, "there would be no need for wardens to be tainted unless an actual Blight had started. Ordinary soldiers could kill any darkspawn that appeared topside without the fear of becoming ghouls. A few of the bravest could volunteer to undergo the Joining once an archdemon arose. Until then, well, the lore would need to be kept safely by someone reliable, but Grey Wardens as an order? We just wouldn't need them."

Solas nodded, looking slyly satisfied as he walked over to his desk. "Your reasoning is both sound and compelling, but do not underestimate your value to the Inquisition. That alone would be worth a fair amount of research. Who else is involved?"

"Well, Grand Enchanter Fiona for a start, who I know has recently shown a profound lack of wisdom, but she's a living example that a complete cure from the taint is possible. She's very knowledgeable about all sorts of things too. I'm also including our new ex-convict, ex-Magister researcher, Gereon Alexius, because he has done significant – if frequently morally dubious – research into a blight sickness cure."

Again Solas nodded. "Wise choices. May I also suggest a non-mage for a wider perspective? Perhaps the camp surgeon."

Anders frowned heavily at that idea. "The woman's a walking hacksaw, does far more harm than good."

"She is certainly more of a scholar than a healer, but the local spirit healer isn't always available." Solas smiled slightly as if attempting to take the sting from his words. "But if you prefer, then perhaps the apothecary, Adan, for his knowledge of natural reagents? Or even Mother Giselle if you do not think working with so many apostates would overly test her. I understand that she's dedicated much of her life to working with the sick."

"I suppose her presence would stop people worrying that we were up to no good," Anders said, although he wasn't exactly enthusiastic about the idea. Even though he realised that, as chantry mothers went, Giselle was one of the best, and that her actions in Jader and beyond were utterly commendable, she still remained a representative of the organisation that had kept him prisoner for years. 

Then again, so was Roderick, who'd become quite a good friend, but as a man in the Chantry, Roderick could never be a policy maker, much though he seemed to think otherwise at times.

"I'll consider asking them both," he said in the end. "I'm also going to include young Connor as seeing mages work together on something positive will help lure him out from behind his walls of self-fear."

"An apprentice to do the fetching and carrying will be appreciated by all, I'm sure. When is the first meeting of our council to occur?"

Anders noted the 'our' with satisfaction. "Unfortunately not as soon as I'd like since Hawke has received an urgent missive from his warden brother. Unless... would you care to head a preliminary meeting if I quickly get it organised before we leave? I have no qualms about trusting you to guide the others and get a discourse going."

A graceful eyebrow rose again. "I am gratified to hear that. Very well, I'll do my best to lead this group in your stead."

Anders smiled broadly. "Thank you! I'm not setting this up as a vanity project. I don't care who leads, just that we succeed in our aims."

"Of course. I understand."

Anders paused before leaving, a thought nagging at him. "Have you ever, in your dream travels, visited Kirkwall? It's just that I believe it was there that Corypheus and his cohorts did the ritual to breach the veil and effectively start the Blight in the first place."

Solas frowned. "In truth, I have always avoided that place in the Fade. Something about it has always felt... wrong. Tainted, you might say. So it seems you might well be right. I know your theory that Kirkwall darkens the minds of those vulnerable to it, and I've certainly not seen or experienced anything to convince me that you are wrong. Quite the contrary, in fact. I doubt visiting the place would help in our research, however. Several of us may prove too open to its corruption, should it exist."

"Which would not lead to the kind of cure we want," Anders said, agreeing and repressing a shiver about what it _could_ lead to.

"Indeed." Solas nodded. "It seems that the Chantry may be correct in their tales about the origin of the Blight, at least in part, if we are to believe Corypheus. I can't help but wonder, however, if the darkspawn transformation of those ancient high priests had more to do with using blood magic on such an immense scale than it did breaking into the Golden City."

Anders opened his mouth... and then shut it again. How odd that he'd never really questioned that little bit of Chantry canon since realising that the Blight really did come from the actions of those magisters. "That... is a very good thing to wonder. We've all seen how blood magic seems to almost inevitably lead to corruption and eventual demon possession. I... I'm going to need to think about this a lot while I'm gone."

"I'm glad to have given you food for thought," Solas said with one of his small smiles.

"Thank you," Anders said with a much bigger one of his own.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _... in which Dorian hasn't a leg to stand on. ___

So they were back on the road again. Fenris was taking vanguard, and Iron Bull had the rearguard. At least that was how it was meant to be. In reality, Dorian, Hawke and Anders moved around rather too much for that order to be rigid. Fenris didn't mind that, but he was glad to be at the front. He didn't have Iron Bull's height to allow him to be able to see all threats from the rear.

At least it wasn't raining. Yet. The parts of the sky that weren't a boiling Fade breach looked ominously heavy.

"How can a sky be heavy?" a familiar voice asked curiously from beside Fenris. "It's just air."

"No, it's clouds too," he told Cole. "Clouds can be heavy with rain yet to fall."

Cole made a thoughtful noise and frowned up at the sky. "Clouds must be very strong then. There's a lot of rain."

"I suppose so," Fenris said agreeably.

Cole's gaze focused on him. "You're happier now. You and he both. Dreading, but daring, reaching out to find him reaching back. It's different this time. Finding the fears were foolish, the risk rewarded."

He couldn't help the smile that tilted his lips. "There was a time when I thought happiness beyond me. I know that no emotion, no set of circumstances can last forever, but that I have them at all seems remarkable."

"It's good!" Cole agreed enthusiastically. "I like the bird."

"It's a peacock. 'Pavus' means 'peacock'. Cole, you only have to ask and you can have a mount of your own." Fenris had noticed that, yet again, Cole had appeared riding one of the pack ponies.

"They don't see me in the stables," Cole said. "It's work to make their eyes stick. Besides, if I had a horse of my own, I would have to ride it always. It would get confused if I... went elsewhere."

"Something could be arranged, even so. I'll talk to the stable master. If they can find a mount that Varric can ride without constant complaint, then they can find one for you too." He frowned, thinking about what Cole had said about not being seen. "Are people treating you all right at Skyhold? You have a room of your own?"

"There is a corner in the tavern, up high," Cole said. "It's warm and I can hear the music and people below. There aren't as many hurts as before, people are less afraid, more determined. Still there's so much helping I've been able to do." He sounded as enthused as Fenris had ever heard him.

"I understand, I think. It feels good to have a role, a purpose, and to fill it." Fenris nodded.

Cole nodded his head vigorously. "Yes. I help. That's what I do, what I _am_. "

"And I guard, but it isn't all that I am." Fenris wondered briefly what it would be like to be a spirit, concentrated on one thing only. "Do you ever talk to Justice?" he asked.

"Sometimes." Cole frowned thoughtfully. "He forgot himself and became a demon, but remembered who he was and found himself again. Just like me. It's like... seeing your reflection in a lake that is all ripply from the wind. It makes talking to him both easier and harder."

Fenris wondered why people complained that they couldn't understand Cole. The boy always made sense to him. He focused in on one particular thing now. "So he was a demon when in Kirkwall?"

"It was too loud there," Cole explained. "Louder still because he's inside a human. When it's that loud, spirits have no choice but to listen. It can take what they are and twist it. Make them forget and fall."

"So he _was_ an abomination," Fenris said with fierce satisfaction. "I knew it."

Cole was frowning at him. "I don't understand. That... makes you happy?"

Fenris looked at him, understanding why he might have distressed Cole a little. "To know I was right about something that everyone else denied is satisfying, yes. I am not a compassion spirit, Cole. I'm not always... kind."

"So..." Cole said slowly, obviously trying to make what he was feeling make sense with what Fenris was saying, "...you're not happy because Justice lost himself, you're happy because you were right?"

"Yes."

Cole nodded then said, "Anders and Justice are not an abomination now. Justice remembered himself. Just like I did. So you're not right when you call him that now."

"'Abomination' has more than one meaning," Fenris said with an sneer.

"You're right," Cole told him solemnly. "You're not always kind."

"People who weren't once a spirit are never just one thing. The same person can be kind one minute, cruel the next. It's what we are, Cole. Part of being alive." While Fenris would never feel guilty for calling Anders names, he'd rather he hadn't disturbed Cole's equilibrium.

"Hurting people because they hurt others, that I understand. Hurting people just because you can..." Cole shook his head. "I don't think I'll ever understand that."

"Anders did hurt others," Fenris pointed out. "He killed many innocents by blowing up a large part of Kirkwall, and he started a war in which hundreds have died."

"I hurt others before as well. Maybe you should still call me demon in case I forget," Cole said and then between one blink and the next vanished. Looking around, Fenris spotted him now riding beside Anders.

He sighed. Well, that had gone well. He was right in what he'd told the boy though. Cole had to learn that people were never wholly good or wholly bad, otherwise the constant disappointment was going to taint him.

"You're looking especially serious," Hawke said, having nudged his horse up to ride beside Fenris.

"I pissed off the spirit," he replied with a wry half-smile. "He has a problem understanding casual cruelty. I was... thoughtless. I should have kept my mouth shut." Though with Cole reading his mind, how much difference that would have made he wasn't sure.

Hawke glanced behind them, to where Cole was riding beside Anders. "Making fun of Anders again, were you?"

"No. I rarely make fun of people, Hawke, even him. The argument concerned the word 'abomination' if you must know." He shook his head, sighing heavily. "So now you can be angry with me too."

"Fenris, for you, that is making fun of Anders." Hawke smirked at him.

"'Fun' really isn't the word," he said, following it with another heavy sigh. He thought about mentioning that Cole had confirmed Anders had been an abomination back in Kirkwall, but he couldn't see how revealing that could serve any good purpose now. He sighed a third time as a heavy blob of rain landed on his hand. "I guess the clouds ran out of strength."

Hawke looked up at the sky. "Odd way to put it, but not wrong." He flicked up his cloak's hood to protect him from the weather. "Cole will come around," he said. "The way you and Anders are with each other takes a while for even actual people to figure out. Might take a spirit a little longer, that's all."

Oh yes. He and Anders were supposedly squabbling siblings. He'd managed to forget that. Well, if it let Hawke rest easier, might as well allow him to believe it. "How urgent do you think Carver's summons really is?" he asked, changing the subject.

"He wouldn't have asked me to come if it wasn't urgent," Hawke said, frowning. "You know how he feels about asking me for help. Or for anything really."

"Consider Dorian's speed spell then." Fenris wasn't sure if the magic could handle a larger party, but there was no harm in asking.

That got Hawke grinning at him. "Fenris suggesting we use magic. See, things do change. And speaking of change – and of Dorian – I can't help but notice the change in your wardrobe."

"He liked it," Fenris said with a slightly embarrassed grin, happy to move on to his favourite subject.

Hawke chuckled. "I gathered that, from the doting glances he's been sending you whenever you're not looking in his direction."

It warmed him inside to hear that. "I owe Felix. His advice allowed me to make it perfect."

"You deserve perfect," Hawke told him with a wide, genuine smile. "With what you've been through, you've more than earned it."

"I'm not sure that's true, but I'm thankful nonetheless." And he was going to hold onto it with everything he had.

"Happy looks good on you. I could get used to seeing you smile all the time," Hawke said. "Not sure how intimidating that makes you as a bodyguard..."

"I can still scowl when I need to," he replied, giving Hawke a good example of him doing so.

"Yes, very effective," Hawke told him. "Until someone mentions that a certain Tevinter mage gives the most besotted look every time he glances your way, and your eyes start smiling, even if your mouth doesn't – just like they are right now."

Fenris found himself spluttering with laughter. "Let's hope our enemies don't discover that one!"

"Oh, I'm entirely confident you can still crush hearts and cut limbs off even when you're floating around on a little cloud of happy," Hawke told him. "It'll... just come as more of a surprise to your opponents."

He paused before replying, taking a good look at Hawke. "And you and Anders? Are you... happy?"

Hawke glanced over to where Anders and Dorian were riding together as they talked and Fenris knew the answer even before Hawke said anything. It was all over his face; it had been years since Fenris had seen him look that contentedly and uncomplicatedly happy. "We're... well, we've decided to marry."

"You've..." Fenris had not expected that. "Then I believe congratulations are in order."

"Thanks. It may take abusing my position as Inquisitor to make it happen, but I figure this will be worth it." Hawke paused and looked back to Fenris. "You're the first person I've told. I hope you're... okay with this?"

"If it makes you happy then it's good," Fenris said firmly, wondering privately how he actually did feel about it. He wasn't sure he felt anything but surprise.

"It does." His eyes had drifted back to Anders as he spoke. "It shouldn't mean as much as it does – Maker knows, we're already committed and have been for years. But somehow..."

"And Justice? How does he feel about being an unwitting third in this?"

"If he objects, he's keeping it to himself," Hawke said.

"Must be strange for him," Fenris said pensively. Now that he knew Cole it gave him a small understanding of Justice, at least when the spirit wasn't being a infuriated, unstoppable killer of templars.

Hawke gave him a wry smirk. "I'm not sure either of us knows anyone that things aren't strange for. At this point, strange is normal, and normal would be strange."

Fenris looked around the people they were travelling with and snorted. "You're probably right."

***

"You know, you're quite famous with certain company back home," Dorian said, nudging his horse into step with Anders.

"Famous in Tevinter, now there's a thing." Anders gave Dorian a wry smile. "I should have martyred myself in my own explosion. Maybe a whole new religion could have blossomed in the Imperium."

"We do love our cults in Tevinter," Dorian admitted. "Though you probably would've needed a dragon or two for it to really have taken off."

"Oh, we had plenty of those. All sizes. But we killed them." He chuckled as he craned his head around, wondering where Cole has suddenly vanished to. "Word of advice. If anyone ever offers you part-ownership in a mine, give them a polite 'no, thank you'."

"House Pavus has interests in a variety of enterprises, but to the best of my recollection, mining isn't one of them." He paused. "If you're looking for someone to rescue you, there's no need. If I'm bothering you, just let me know, and I can go back to trading insults with that hulking brute of a Qunari that's serving as rear guard." He frowned slightly. "Or possibly flirting. It's rather difficult to tell with him."

That made Anders focus, frowning slightly. "Not at all. I was looking for Cole. I was just talking to him, but it seems he's done his vanishing trick again. No worries." He gave Dorian an amiable smile. "Don't desert me too."

"I wouldn't dream of it!" Dorian's expression had been pleasant throughout, but there was a very subtle easing in his posture now that said, in spite of his words, he'd been tensing himself for rejection. He gave a little half bow that probably would've looked silly if anyone else had tried, especially on horseback. "I shall endeavour to be entertaining for as long as my presence is welcome."

"Consider yourself always welcome. Unless you start to share your lover's views on yours truly, anyway. There's only so much abomination-ing I can take before I start to feel I should be acting like one."

"I guess that would probably be about as much evil magister comments I can take before I start fantasising about throwing a horror spell at the comment-makers," Dorian said with a wry smile. "Don't worry. As much as I adore Fenris, I don't let him form my opinions on people. Even people he's known much longer than me."

"'Known' is a matter for debate, but let's not debate it. I'm sure there must be far more pleasant topics to discuss. Such as, Ferelden weather... " He looked up at the grey sky. "Or not."

"Ferelden weather is delightful – if you like cold and wet," Dorian declared. "I agree, we can find more agreeable topics. Perhaps... magical theory? I must say, I've rarely if ever seen a spirit healer as talented as you, even back home."

"Thank you." Anders gave him an honest smile. "It was my first power to show itself. Well, the second, but the first I had any control over. You specialise in, uh, the dead? Like they do in Nevarra?"

"Necromancy, yes. Though I'm not as... ah... enamoured, shall we say, of the dead as your average mortalitasi." Dorian glanced at Anders as he continued, "It was actually my attempts at healing magic that led me to discover my aptitude in the first place. Both healing magic and necromancy rely on manipulation of the Fade and spirit energy, and when I was attempting to master the former, I kept accidentally attracting and performing the latter." He gave an elegant half shrug. "Eventually I decided to go with my obvious strengths."

"We know a Dalish elf with related abilities. She does the same horror spell as you, at least. Very useful it is too – takes the pressure right off the warrior in the group. She's a sweet girl too, Merrill, if rather too fond of blood magic for all our comfort."

Dorian's face screwed up in an expression of distaste. "I have yet to see anything good ever come out of blood magic."

"No, argument here." Anders screwed his own face up. "Kirkwall was practically built on blood magic, gallons upon gallons of it. According to documents we found detailing an early investigation by the Order of Seekers, many thousands were killed for blood magic back when Kirkwall was Emerius – including, most probably, a whole missing legion of Imperium soldiers! It was a slavery hub, but one in every ten slaves that passed through it just vanished – that's thousands of slaves every year. The city itself was modelled on a magical symbol, and gutters and grooves were cut into the stone to drain the blood downwards. The Investigators discovered that all this blood was in order to 'weaken' the veil. It's not hard to go from that knowledge to–" He took a deep breath. "To this is where Corypheus and his ilk broke into the Golden City. Especially with him being imprisoned so close by. Sorry. Bit of a pet subject."

Not that 'pet' was the right word exactly.

Dorian tilted his head to the side, eyes alight with curiosity. "It isn't something much discussed or studied in the Imperium – all the better to be able to deny we started the Blights – but the location of the attempt is probably written down somewhere. Or at least enough information to be able to piece together where the location actually was..."

"More confirmation would be good. Hawke has spoken about leading the Inquisition there after the Corypheus problem is dealt with. Start a program of intensive magical cleansing, something like that..." Anders wasn't at all sure he'd want to be part of the actual cleansing. Going back there, remembering what he'd been, what he'd done...

"It would be difficult to research long distance, but I do still have a couple of contacts back home that may be able to ferret out information for me," Dorian offered. "I can at least make inquiries." He paused and then ventured carefully, "You say that's what Hawke wants to do, but you sound... less enthused about it."

"The place was poison for Justice and me." He thought about saying more but decided to leave it at that. As it was he felt like he was making excuses.

"You know the Inquisition is a rather big thing and getting bigger. Hawke could turn his attention to helping Kirkwall without either of you having to return," Dorian told him.

"I think Hawke would want to be hands on about it," Anders said doubtfully. "Although... Varric would be ideal to put in charge of that. He loves Kirkwall; it's his home, and he seems fundamentally immune to the malign influence there." Unlike his brother. "Anyone who is even a little bit broken needs to stay away from the place. The evil oozes in through the cracks in a mind, be it anger, hatred, pride or avarice."

"I've been to Kirkwall," Dorian offered. "I was just passing through on my way south and was... less than impressed, but it didn't seem at least to my limited exposure to it, to be all that destructive." He paused. "Of course I am from Tevinter and if blood sacrifices and ancient magic and evil can leave such a mark on a place, Kirkwall is most likely not the first place I've passed through like that. Perhaps I have built up an immunity, coming from the Imperium."

"Before I met you and Felix, I didn't think it was possible for good sorts to come from Tevinter. Maybe constant exposure is indeed building up an immunity in the Imperium's children. That's a nice thought." He smiled over at Dorian.

"Isn't it? To believe we can win against evil merely by outlasting and enduring?" Dorian sighed and shook his head with a crooked smile. "I wish I _could_ actually believe that."

"If we, here, are proof of anything, it's that more things are possible than we'd normally believe."

He saw Dorian's gaze drift over to where Fenris was riding beside Hawke and the tiniest genuine smile touch his lips before he turned his attention back to Anders with a self deprecating shake of the head. "I cannot argue with you on that point, I admit."

Anders followed his gaze and allowed his own to rest on Hawke. "I got proposed to yesterday." He wasn't sure why he was telling Dorian that; perhaps because it still didn't seem quite real.

Dorian's eyes widened at that statement and he glanced back and forth between Hawke and Anders a couple of times before he smiled widely. "Really? That is truly amazing!"

"Isn't it? I can't quite believe it myself." He shot a ragged smile Dorian's way. "As if sleeping with me wasn't enough scandal for the Inquisitor."

"Granted I haven't known him as long as you, but Hawke does not strike me as someone who considers avoiding scandal when making decisions. Lucky for me, as otherwise he might not have wanted an evil mage from Tevinter around." He grinned teasingly at Anders. "Admittedly, luckier for you since it landed you a proposal.."

"No, scandal is not one of his fears." Anders chuckled, watching Hawke's back. "Though he has learnt to tame his tongue a little from when we first met. Some of the things he said to people." He shook his head fondly.

"Oh?" Dorian's eyebrows raised, eyes alight with curiosity. "I sense a story or two here. Care to share?"

"Happily, but where to start?" Laughing, Anders ran through a few stories in his head. "Well, this one time Hawke agreed to help this old templar who was looking into the disappearance of a woman. We found what was left of her, little more than a few bloodied bones, and... you know, on second thoughts, this really isn't an amusing story."

"It does seem to be taking a rather dark turn," Dorian agreed. "How about I ask what are hopefully non traumatic inducing questions instead and you can just answer?"

"Go ahead." Anders started to wave a hand in permission but then had to apologise via a few pats to his horse.

"I read Varric's book so I know at the basics of how you met, but... it's obvious there's been some artistic licence being taken. So from your viewpoint what was it like when you first met? What did you think of him, him of you, all of that?"

Anders thought back to that time, frowning a little. "I was in my clinic, healing a child. Hawke, Carver, Varric and Aveline strode in. At first I thought they were there to give me grief, me being an apostate. Aveline was city guard, you see. But they were more interested in my Grey Warden status." He smiled softly. "Hawke was charming, drop dead gorgeous and very sarcastic. It wasn't love at first sight; that came later after I'd watched him kill the templars who'd made my friend a tranquil. But it was lust at first sight, definitely."

"Lust isn't a bad place to start," Dorian said. Then more quietly, "I'm sorry about your friend."

"He came back to himself briefly, some kind of freak reaction to Justice being active in me. He begged me to kill him." Anders met Dorian's eyes long enough to say, "So I did."

Dorian didn't look away. "The templars killed him. You released him."

He nodded. "I know. They'd found my letters to him, the one he was writing to me. That's it. That was his great crime that gave them 'permission' to kill what made him _him_."

' **They paid with their lives for their crime. It is done, Anders. Let it go.** ' Justice spoke in his head. The first time for days.

' _Where have you been?_ ' Anders asked without thinking. ' _I've been worried!_ '

' **Here. I am always here.** '

"Am I still talking to Anders?" Dorian asked. "Or Justice?" He didn't look or sound alarmed, just merely curious.

"It's still me," Anders reassured him aloud. He guessed he must have been glowing a little. "Justice is telling me to calm down. Ironically enough." Then he added mentally, ' _You've been so quiet._ '

**'I am always here if you need me.** '

The implication being that he hadn't needed Justice? He wasn't sure what he felt about that. He focused back on Dorian. "Am I allowed to ask about you and Fenris, or would that be unwise?"

"As long as we don't flirt. I promised I wouldn't with you. Other than that..." Dorian flung his arms wide. "I am an open book. Ask away."

"Just with me?" Anders raised a brow. "No, don't answer that. What I really want to know is: what happened that night you first ended up sharing a tent?"

"Nothing happened!" Dorian insisted. "Fenris hadn't wanted to go to sleep after what had happened with the envy demon and we were both bemoaning the lack of alcohol and somehow the topic of the regen potions came up, and at that moment in time it seemed like a brilliant solution to our problems. I... don't actually even remember getting to the tent, if I'm being honest."

"And only a few days prior to that he was claiming loudly that he wanted to kill you. How did you manage to get from one thing to the other? I ask because I've never managed it in ten bloody years!"

"That didn't happen that night. It happened on the way to Therinfal actually. He was on watch, and I couldn't sleep, and I tried to apologise for making him angry earlier in the day – though I wasn't completely certain what I had done, so I was just making a bad situation worse. He asked me how I justified my family keeping slaves, and I, like an idiot, said that was just how things had always been." Dorian winced at the memory. "If he had decided to rip my heart out right there, it would've been deserved. He didn't though. He just got right in my face, glowing so bright I could barely see and screamed, 'And that makes it right?' at me. I won't lie; it was a terrifying experience, rather like waking up to a bear growling six inches from you. But as frightening as Fenris was, he was also _magnificent,_ and I remember thinking at that moment that the idea of him being _anything_ but free was utterly repugnant.

"I said as much to him and he... backed down. Apologised even for yelling at me and then he... tried to explain what being a slave was like." Dorian shuddered. "He did an exceedingly good job of it. So much so that it ended with me throwing up, not only because of what he told me but because I had been blind – wilfully so – to it for so long."

"Maker. So he finally got the reaction he's always felt his sufferings deserved." Anders shook his head slowly. "Not that he was wrong about that," he added. "It's just at the time we met him his attitude to any mage was unrelentingly blaming. He felt the templars were right to do what they did to us. That we should be locked up, made tranquil at another's whim."

Dorian was quiet for a minute. "I have never been locked in one of your dismal little southern mage prisons any more than I have been a slave so I apologise in advance if I misstep," he finally said. "How would you have reacted if, when you joined Hawke, you found out that one of his other closest friends was a templar? He seemed to be a pretty decent type because of course he'd have to be if he's hanging out with Hawke, and he'd had bad things happen to him. But still he's a templar, one that made no secret of his fight to improve templars' lives, and going on about how they should have free, unfettered access to lyrium, and how they should be allowed to use their powers against any mage they come across, and how it's wrong to suggest otherwise. How would you have felt?"

Anders frowned. So much for this being the more pleasant topic. "I know the point you're making, but for the analogy to be a true one, this templar wouldn't have abused mages. Would, in fact, have considered abusing mages to be a very bad thing that should be prevented whenever the opportunity arose. I was never pro-slavery, Dorian. The idea is abhorrent. I've killed many slavers at Fenris' side." He shook his head. "And Hawke himself would have had to be a templar in that analogy too."

"Back home," Dorian said quietly, "it's the mages that have the power; they're the ones who maintain slavery. Even those of us who want to do better, we maintain that system. We decry the abuse of slaves, but we don't see how inherently wrong it is because that's the way it's always been. Everyone who ever had power over Fenris was a mage. Asking him to see the injustices done to mages was like asking you to sympathize with the templars who hurt your friends, hurt you. For Fenris back then, mages _were_ his templars."

"Yes, I already understood your point, but you don't seem to have understood mine." Anders sighed. He was starting to feel a familiar weight pushing him down.

Dorian sighed too. "When Fenris said all the horrible things he said about mages back then, he wasn't really talking about the mages you were talking about. He was talking about the mages back home. The ones that hurt him. Was it right or fair of him? I won't say it was. But he was... still wounded back then. To expect him to always be right and fair when he's hurt and scared is a bit much, don't you think?

"Also, answer me this," he continued before Anders had a chance to answer. "Did Fenris ever attempt to follow through on any of these threats? Did he turn in any apostates to the Circle? Did he kill them outright? Or did he defend them – and Hawke and you – to the best of his ability? I know you weren't always at your best back then either, and it was probably inevitable that you two would clash. But you're both better now. I think, if you both could just stop focusing on how wrong the other was back then you might finally be able to, as you say, get from one thing to the other."

"I always understood why he hated mages," Anders said quietly. "That was never really the problem, not exactly. I understand your... zeal to make amends, to share the epiphany you experienced, but I am not 'focusing on how wrong he was'. I only mentioned it at all to explain why we didn't react as strongly as you to his suffering. We cared in our own way. We were there for him everytime he needed help against the bastards that tormented him, just as he was there for us against our own demons."

He took a deep breath before continuing. "But my issue with him, such as it was, was both more personal and more complex. I don't want to make this conversation more tense than it already is by detailing it. Now, however, it's very simple. He can't stand the sight of me."

Dorian was quiet for a long moment, gaze distant in thought. "Perhaps you have moved past all that complicated angst from when you first met," he finally said. "Perhaps it really is much more simple. Have you considered that it might be because you have Hawke?"

Anders snorted. "That was one of those complexities I felt it wise not to mention."

"It's fairly obvious," Dorian said. He nodded ahead to where Hawke and Fenris were riding beside each other. "Both the... connection between them and the fact that it is secondary to the one you and Hawke have. Which, by the way, is the only reason I'm not horribly insecure about them spending time together."

Anders watched them both, wondering when it was exactly that he'd stopped feeling Fenris was a threat to his relationship. He suspected it was when Hawke had still wanted him around after what he'd done to the Kirkwall Chantry. Inasmuch as he was thinking at all at the time, he'd expected to lose Hawke or worse after doing that.

"Fenris is nothing if not fiercely loyal," he told Dorian. "Even if Hawke were the kind of bastard to try to seduce him away from you, Fenris wouldn't betray you. I've never seen him as relaxed as he is now. He smiles more in five minutes with you than he would in a year in Kirkwall. He'll always be loyal to Hawke, yes, but it's as a friend and follower now. You, quite clearly, have his heart." He grinned suddenly. "It's all rather adorable really, but I'd never say that to his face as I rather like having my heart in my chest."

Dorian, in spite of his obvious best efforts to maintain his composure, had started blushing halfway through Anders' words and had given up trying to hide his smile by the time Anders was done. "Yes, well, against my better judgement I will accept adorable as a description of our relationship. Mostly for the novelty of it." He grew quieter, his eyes focused on Fenris. "He has my heart too. Which is completely unexpected, wonderful and terrifying all at the same time."

"I'm glad," Anders said, meaning it. "Happy for _both_ of you."

"Thank you," Dorian said simply. He looked back at Anders. "That's why the no flirting with you promise. You ended up with Hawke, and he didn't, and I think some small part of him is afraid of history repeating." He shrugged elegantly. "At least, that is what it seemed like. As irrational and impossible as such a thing happening is, it was a small enough concession for me to make. But that's why I think you having Hawke might still be a cause of any lingering hostility you feel from him."

"That and Justice," Anders said, pulling a face. "What with first Hawke and now you, hating mages has become difficult for him to justify. Abominations on the other hand..." He winced. "Not that he didn't have a point, back in Kirkwall. It was only after months away from the place that we, Justice and I, realised how close we'd come to being just that. At the end, it would have taken very little to tip us over into something big and lumpy with terrible breath."

He glanced at Dorian, wondering how he was taking the confession. "I honestly think Hawke is the only reason we didn't. All around us, desperate idiots were letting demons in because it was that or death, or tranquility at the hands of templars. Even bloody Orsino. It was insane." He couldn't help a shiver at the memory, his skin prickling with goosepimples.

"Hawke might have gave you the strength, but it was still you in the end who stopped it from happening," Dorian said firmly. "You can't keep anyone else from falling to a demon; that is always a fight that's fought alone." He paused and eyed Anders speculatively. "Or maybe not, in your case. You and Justice fought it together."

Anders nodded. "We did."

' **And it is well that we did** ,' Justice said in Anders' head. ' **Your friend has remarkable kindness of spirit**.'

' _You can tell him that yourself if you want. I don't mind_.'

**'No, it is best I don't speak with your mouth unless circumstances are dire. I have noticed it disturbs your friends.** '

' _You're my friend too,_ ' Anders pointed out, then speaking aloud to say to Dorian, "Justice likes you."

Dorian looked surprised, but then gave them a pleased smile. "I am gratified to hear that. Thank you, Justice."

' **He is welcome**.'

_'It's good you're talking again. I've missed you.'_ Anders told Justice before saying aloud, "He says you're welcome. Tell me, have you been to see your ex-mentor in the dungeons recently?"

"Not.... directly," Dorian said. "I... may have been exploring the ruined part of the dungeons within earshot when Felix went to visit him though."

"Hmm," Anders said, letting himself get distracted by that. "How did he react to Felix's news?"

"Overwhelmingly relieved that Felix is alive and well, first and foremost," Dorian said with a small, soft smile. "As are we all."

"It was a relief that he passed the joining. So many don't. I have an ulterior motive for asking," Anders admitted.

"Oh?"

"I'd very much like to lay my hands on his research regarding delaying the Blight's progress. I've asked Fiona to talk with him while we're gone, but maybe he'll be... less cautious about discussing it with you?" Anders shrugged. "For all I know, he coughed up all of the research to Fiona the moment we left Skyhold, but considering their reversal in circumstances..."

"I know some of it – I helped him with a lot of it in the beginning," Dorian offered. "We accomplished some significant arresting of the Blight's spread, but with increasingly diminishing returns. It became apparent it was never going to be a cure, however."

"Yet a cure is possible. Or at least, for the taint Grey Wardens carry, it is. It must be. Fiona is living proof." He pulled a face. She had been oddly difficult to speak with despite her willingness to help. There was something... not cold exactly, but something very reserved about her.

"Is that what you want the research for?" Dorian's expression came alight with curiosity and interest. "A cure for the taint?"

Anders nodded. He didn't have permission to talk about Elissa, but that was okay. "Both Hawke's husband-to-be and brother are Grey Wardens. I think, at the very least, he'd like us to find a cure for the Calling."

"Any help I can give is, of course, at your disposal," Dorian said with a quick half bow, somehow managing to make it look graceful even on the back of a horse. "As for Alexius... he was willing to work with Corypheus and rip time itself apart for his son. Felix is now a Grey Warden as well. I expect you would find him extremely motivated if you asked for his aid."

"Good. I'll include you in the research council I'm putting together then, if I may." Things were coming together nicely. He probably had enough expert voices now, although... "Have you spoken to the new Arcanist?" he asked Dorian. "She's got a lot to say." To say the least. He chuckled. "Tempted to include her on the team. Her enthusiasm as well as her knowledge could work wonders. She's as good with a rune as we are magic, and who knows? Maybe runes could hold an answer."

"I haven't had the pleasure of meeting her yet, no. I've been a bit... distracted when we've been in Skyhold," Dorian said, his gaze once again going to Fenris.

Anders laughed again. "I know. You're the talk of the keep."

Dorian went completely red at that and sputtered once before holding his head up proudly and saying, "They're just jealous," with a elegant dismissive gesture, flicking his fingers as if brushing away a speck of dirt.

"Probably," Anders agreed easily. "You do seem to be having a lot of fun, silk scarves and all." He grinned evilly.

The blush that had been starting to fade came back full force. "I am not explaining my sex life to you," Dorian said, looking straight ahead.

Anders tipped his head back to laugh loudly "No explanation necessary. I'm quite capable of working that one out."

"The hows certainly. The whys are another question entirely," Dorian told him. He was looking in Fenris' direction again, and when Fenris glanced back, the smile Dorian gave the elf was equal parts heated and completely besotted. Anders wondered if that was what he looked like when he stared at Hawke.

Sometimes maybe, but all too often it would be a frown of worry he sent in his lover's direction.

"Perhaps it's time for Fenris and me to swap riding partners," he said, tightening the reins ready to get his horse moving faster. "I _really_ don't want to give him the wrong idea." He turned to look properly at Dorian when he added, "But it was a good chat. Lots covered."

Dorian nodded. "Indeed. We will have to do it again. You are an interesting man to get to know, Anders."

"You too. Justice agrees." And with that and an accompanying smile, he kicked his heels gently into the horse's side and trotted off to Hawke.

***

Crestwood was a miserable place, full of rain and mud, bandits and undead. Hawke was going to have to find a way to do something about that giant rift out in the middle of the lake too, and he was going to get right on that.

As soon as he met with his brother, found out why he'd called them all out here and made sure he was all right. Not that admitting that last bit would get Carver to do anything but scowl at him. It was still a big motivator for Hawke.

They followed the directions Carver had sent, having to stop on a fairly regular basis to fight an assortment of undead, bandits and aggressive wildlife. When they got close, Hawke sent the bulk of the forces with him to set up camp nearby and continued on by foot with Anders, Fenris, Dorian, Iron Bull and Cole.

"We're close now I think," Hawke said, peering into the murk and rain as they rounded the side of a cliff.

Anders put a hand above his eyes and also peered. "There! Is that... Felix? Or just another walking corpse?"

"It's Felix," Fenris said, not having to peer at all. "No sign of Carver. He must be inside that cave."

Dorian was the one who spoke when they got close enough to be heard without yelling. "Apparently becoming a Grey Warden has addled your mind," he said, stalking right up to Felix. "You used to have the sense to go in out of the rain."

"Where you wouldn't be able to see me," Felix said with a smile. "Hello Dorian, hello all. Carver sensed you were close by. He's inside where it's... well, slightly less damp anyway."

"Right now slightly less damp would be a welcome improvement," Hawke said, gesturing at the cave. "Lead the way."

Leaving Iron Bull to guard the entrance, the rest of them made their way in. "Ooh, deep mushrooms," Anders said almost immediately. He started to unfasten gathering tools from his belt.

"Leave them for the scouts to collect," Fenris said, sounding exasperated.

"Let's talk with Carver first, and you can collect some on the way out," Hawke interjected with the ease of long practice, before the two could start arguing again. "We'll make sure to give this location to the scouts when we get back to camp as well."

Anders rolled his eyes at Hawke, but didn't argue.

Further in they came up to where a wooden barrier had been built across the tunnel. The door in it was open. "We're in here," Felix said. "War-room and temporary lodgings both. Welcome."

Hawke stepped inside, taking note of the makeshift table with papers in the middle and the bed rolls in the corner. As caves to hole up in went, he'd seen worse. At least there weren't any giant spiders.

There was, however, his brother standing in front of the entrance, holding his sword so it was pointing directly at Hawke's throat. "Hello to you too, brother," Hawke drawled. Inside, though, he worried. Things had to be going very wrong for Carver to be that jumpy.

Fenris growled wordlessly at Carver until the sword point lowered. "Sorry," Carver mumbled, sounding more agitated than actually sorry.

"The fake Calling is worse for him," Felix said softly.

"Don't speak for me," Carver told him with obvious bad temper. "Brother. Thank you for coming. Things are quite possibly fucked up beyond all repair with the Wardens."

"That's what I love about you, Carver. You're always such a fountain of joy," Hawke said even as he felt his stomach drop at those words. He'd already got the feeling that whatever Carver called him out here for was going to be bad, but this now sounded like it was _bad_ with a capital B. Dropping his joking manner, he bade, "Tell me."

"Stroud is dead, murdered by his brothers and sisters at arms. We followed a trail they left across the Storm Coast to Crestwood. We found his body where they'd left it near here, close to where a high dragon is nesting. I suspect they hoped she'd eat the evidence, but she didn't. The bastards hadn't even searched him properly." Carver stopped, his fists and jaw clenched.

He closed his eyes briefly and seemed to force himself to relax enough to continue. "I found his letter to me in his boot where he always kept his 'just-in-case's. It sent us here, to his notes, which told us all he'd managed to find out."

Hawke felt a pang of sorrow at the news of Stroud's death. He hadn't known the man well, but Stroud had saved Carver's life, and he knew Carver had come to respect him a great deal. He knew though, just by looking at Carver, that he was holding on by his fingernails, so he saved any expression of sympathy for later and just asked, "What did he find out?"

"Warden Commander Clarel has allied herself with a Tevinter magister called Erimond. They intend to raise a demon army to invade the Deep Roads and kill all the remaining Old Gods. How they intend to do this, Stroud hadn't managed to find out, but you tell me, brother. _Is_ there a _good_ way to summon a demon army?"

"It also seems likely," Felix put in, "that Erimond is Venatori. Especially considering what I know of his reputation. With Corypheus being behind the mass Calling, this all has to be some terrible manipulation, doesn't it?"

"Almost definitely if Erimond is involved," Dorian said. "He's one of the most odious and vile men I've had the displeasure of meeting, so slimy I wanted to wipe my hand after shaking his, but he is far from stupid. He will say and do anything to get people to do what he wants."

The name sounded vaguely familiar to Hawke, but he couldn't remember where he'd heard it before. "Does he use blood magic?" he asked.

"I've never seen or heard of anything conclusive about him doing so, but I would be very surprised if the answer was no," Dorian said, exchanging a look with Felix.

"And they're all just going along with it? Everyone of them." Anders sounded upset. He didn't talk about them much, but Hawke knew Anders had old friends still amongst the wardens. He'd met one, Nathaniel Howe.

"Those that haven't will have been dealt with, like Stroud," Carver said, voice still full of anger.

Anders looked down.

Hawke felt his own anger spark. They had all lost enough and he was damned if he was going to let Carver and Anders lose any more people they cared about if he could help it.

"Right," he said, sounding as decisive as he could. "Stopping Erimond and getting the Wardens to come to their senses is now the Inquisition's number one priority." He looked at his brother. "Do we have any idea where we can find our dear magister friend?"

"Well, we know where they've all been running off to," Carver replied. "The Orlesian Western Approach."

"That's where we're heading then," Hawke declared and then grimaced as he remembered the situation outside the cave and the likely cause that only he could take care of. "As soon as I close that rift in the middle of the lake." Which he would do as soon as he figured out how to get out to it.

"That's where all the undead are coming from," Felix said. "The old village was flooded during the Blight, apparently. Lots of corpses down there for spirits to possess."

"There's that dam we passed," Dorian suggested. "Perhaps we can use it to drain the area enough that we can get to the rift without having to swim."

Hawke nodded. "We'll check out the village. Someone there hopefully will know how to get out to it."

"We've got to keep our profile low," Carver said. "We'll meet you at the Western Approach. There's an ancient tower there that Stroud mentioned, close to Griffon Wing Keep. We'll keep an eye on it and meet you when you get there."

"If you want horses, I'm sure our scouts can spare you a couple," Anders said. "They're quite close."

Felix looked at Carver and smiled when Carver said, "I guess we shouldn't refuse the advantage of speed. Thank you."

"We'll join you as soon as we get finished here," Hawke promised. He hesitated before continuing. With the danger they were both walking into, he felt he should say something to Carver, but he wasn't sure if he could find words that Carver wouldn't misinterpret deliberately or otherwise.

Cole took the choice out of his hands. "He worries," he said, stepping forward, appearing, Hawke thought with the way his brother startled, to Carver for the first time. "Wanting to protect, but knowing you can protect yourself. He's never begrudged you your piece of the sky. He just doesn't want to be the only hawk left flying. The sky is far too empty already."

Carver's jaw dropped during Cole's speech, but he shut in a hurry afterwards. "Uh, right. Let's both take care then." He shrugged and half-smiled at Hawke.

"Deal," Hawke said, extending a hand to Carver with a half-smile of his own.

***

Going to the village had indeed led to them getting more information on the dam and acquiring a key to open it. Getting to it had required that they take out an entire fort filled with bandits, but that was just the sort of stumbling block Dorian had learned to anticipate when travelling with Hawke.

They left Iron Bull to take care of things there while the rest of them moved on to the dam. Once they had finally got to the controls, it was a simple matter of activating them and then waiting while the water drained, before descending to slowly pick their way through the remains of the village the receding waters had revealed.

"I thought this place was depressing before," Dorian observed, grimacing in distaste as he stepped through a gap in rotting wood planks, firmly keeping his attention on the skeleton of the building. It was far less distressing than staring at the group of long dead bodies huddled together in the middle of the floor, a couple of them far too small to be adults.

"The stink takes me back to Dark Town," Anders said, brushing away flies from around himself. "And not in a good way."

"You're not wrong," Fenris said, having apparently found something he could agree with Anders about.

"It might be even more like Dark Town in a minute," Hawke said, pointing up a hill. "That looks like the entrance to the caves the mayor told us about."

"It can hardly be worse than out here... can it?" Anders asked. "Oh, what am I saying. Of course, it could."

"As that is where the giant rift has its root, it's hardly going to be any better, is it?" Fenris said waspishly.

And they were back to the status quo of Fenris and Anders sniping at each other. Dorian wasn't sure that was a good or bad thing, but at least it was familiar. "It will at least be drier, one surmises, so I'm all for checking it out as quickly as possible," he put in.

"Come on," Hawke said, heading for the entrance. "The sooner we get this taken care of, the sooner we can catch up to Carver and Felix."

"Well, it's less unpleasantly squelchy so far," Anders said cautiously as they ventured inside. "And look!" he added after casting a spell, "the torches are dry enough to burn."

"We hardly need them, do we?" Fenris strode out in front of the rest of them. "Three mages worth of light globes should be enough for the poorest human eyes."

"Lit torches make an excellent path marker when we have to find our way back," Hawke put in. "And less mana wasted that we might need when we find the rift."

"It's humming below us," Cole said dreamily as he followed along. "A window, wanting, wandering, looking back at what's looking."

"Our resident expert seems to think we're going in the right direction at least," Dorian said. "Thank you, Cole, for that disturbingly worded observation."

As they made their way down, they passed spirits, lost and confused but not demons. Not yet, anyway. But as they got deeper, they started meeting undead again and then rage and despair demons, a pairing that seemed horribly apt when they found evidence that there had been people living down here when the caves had flooded.

"There are few nice ways to die," Anders said unhappily, looking at some withered corpses not yet animated by demons, "but this has got to be down there with the worst of them. Trapped under rock as the water rises..."

"Terrified and tired, trying to sleep, but sounds skittering in the dark and the dread follows into dreams. Then the roaring, rushing through the tunnels, almost too loud to just be sound. Worse than darkspawn, water, flooding and flowing implacable, unstoppable. Running and weeping, until there's nowhere to run to. Drowning in fear and then just... drowning." Cole looked up and Dorian could see his eyes glint in the dim light. "They didn't deserve the end they were given."

Dorian shivered and tried to tell himself it was merely because of the coolness of the cave. "I don't expect anyone would deserve that."

Hawke laid a hand on Anders' shoulder. "Try not to dwell on it," he said softly. "We weren't here to help them then, but we can at least see that they rest peacefully." Dorian saw Anders lift his hand to Hawke's and squeeze it before they continued on.

Further down still, and they reached a much more civilised area, at least in appearance. Dwarven ruins, it seemed.

"No torches needed here," Fenris said, drawing attention to the eldritch dwarven lights that lined the corridor.

Dorian looked around, forgetting the seriousness of what they were doing for a moment in his wonder at the find. "Who knows how old these ruins are, and they're still lit?" he asked in sheer delight, reaching out a hand to touch one of the lit pillars. "Marvellous."

Fenris smiled at him. "Varric will be happy he stayed at Skyhold. He doesn't enjoy his dwarven heritage much."

"Or caves and being underground in general," Hawke put in. "Really, if he wasn't so short, I'd question if he was actually a dwarf at all."

"He certainly breaks all the stereotypes, doesn't he?" Dorian agreed. He glanced at Fenris and smiled back. "But then we all are rather singular people."

"Hawke collects them," Anders said. "He ticks us off in a little book he keeps. Tevinter that isn't a bastard? Check. Spirit becoming a real boy? Check. Glowy lyrium elf? Check. Dwarf that hates beards and being underground? Check."

"Annoying, mass-murdering abomination?" Fenris said dryly. "Check."

Anders sighed heavily and gave Dorian a look that probably meant something like, 'see, I told you'.

"Actually he checked off the runaway Grey Warden spirit healer working the whole sexy tortured look," Hawke said casually, waggling his eyebrows at Anders in such a comically suggestive way that Dorian couldn't completely stifle a snort of laughter.

Anders moved closer to Hawke. Dorian couldn't see his expression anymore, but thought he could imagine it. Fenris, on the other hand, seemed to have caught the exchange of glances between Anders and Dorian and was now sharing a scowl between the two of them.

Dorian stepped closer, deliberately positioning himself in front of Fenris so as to block his view of Hawke and Anders. "And what did you check off your list when you met me, amatus?" he asked, before the elf could just dodge around him to keep scowling.

"I don't have a list," Fenris replied, more than a little sulkily, but then he stepped closer and added, "Little point in a list with only one item on it."

Dorian smiled at him and leant in to steal a quick kiss when he head Hawke make a wordless grunt, and the lighting changed to something with a distinctly greenish tinge. He turned to see Hawke's left hand glowing brightly.

"It's here," Cole declared, pointing at an open doorway a few feet in front of Hawke. "The rift."

Hawke took a deep breath as they all gathered near the doorway, a glowing green light pouring out of it that pulsed in time to the mark on his hand. "This isn't going to be easy," he said. "It feels... big. Almost as big as the one at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I'm going to have to wear it down before I can close it."

"We're here," Fenris said immediately. "Ready when you are."

The rift was in a large chamber with a kind of moat around a central area that looked like it had once held some significance. Dorian remembered Solas saying something about the areas where rifts formed being the paths of least resistance to the Fade. What had the dwarves once done in this space?

"We'll need to pace ourselves," Anders said. "I wish we'd called in at the camp for more potions before coming here."

"I'll work as fast as I can," Hawke promised. He glanced at each of them in turn. "Ready?"

They all nodded, Dorian feeling his heart start pounding faster as he called magic to his fingertips.

"Go!" Hawke yelled, stepping into the chamber and raising his hand towards the rift hanging in the sky.

The central platform pretty much exploded with demons of all kinds and sizes, and the fight was joined immediately. There was no question of pacing themselves, not with enemies coming so thick and fast. Every time they seemed to be getting to the end of them, the rift farted and out popped another half-dozen.

"Seriously, where are they all coming from?" Anders demanded, freezing a rage demon that had gone after Hawke. "I've been in the Fade. You can walk really quite far without seeing a bloody demon. Is this a demon pilgrimage spot?"

"Perhaps. Or a vacation destination," Dorian quipped back, though the strain of firing spell after spell was beginning to show in his voice. "Visit lovely Crestwood. Come for the deplorable depressing weather, stay for the free bodies to possess."

He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head to see Fenris fighting off two demons, unaware of the third that was right behind him arms raised to strike. He called out a warning and threw a barrier spell over Fenris, breathing a sigh of relief that it took in time.

His relief was short-lived, however, when the ground below his feet surged up, knocking him down. Dazed from the fall, he looked up to see a terror demon looming over him. He called a flame spell to his hands, but before he could cast it, the demon brought its sharp, sword-like claws down on his leg, slicing clean through.

Dorian had a split second of shocked realisation, and then the only thing he knew was unbearable pain.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _...in which miracles abound._

He didn't see it happen. He looked up after finishing the last demon to thank Dorian for the barrier, but Dorian wasn't there. It took him far too many stupefied seconds for him to look down.

His mind couldn't make sense of what he was seeing, not to start with. The others barged past him, skidding down to land on their knees beside...

Beside Dorian.

Anders was doing something to Dorian's leg. Only he wasn't because Dorian's leg was... Hawke had Dorian's leg. Because it was no longer part of Dorian. Dorian who was deathly pale, and it was only the blood pumping out of where his leg had been that allowed Fenris to know Dorian was even still alive.

He thought he must have made a noise, because suddenly they were looking at him, and he wanted to scream at them to stop looking at him and get on with making Dorian better. Because they had to. They just had to.

He felt someone touch his arm and turned to see Cole looking at him with wide, sad eyes. "He's fighting to stay. Anders will help him fight. It's what he does better than anyone."

Hearing Cole somehow made sound come back to the chamber. He wasn't sure why it had gone in the first place. Anders was talking urgently to Hawke. "I've stopped him bleeding out but... I don't know if I can do it. Has it ever even been done before? I've healed some terrible wounds before but this..."

"You have to!" Fenris fell to his knees beside Anders. "You're meant to be a miracle worker. People say it all the time. Work miracles!"

Anders gave him a glance full of something Fenris wasn't capable of understanding at this moment. "I'm going to try, Fenris. I'll do all I can. Of course I will."

Hawke gripped his shoulder. "If anyone can do this, Anders can," he said in that tone that Fenris had heard from him hundreds of time before when he was soothing people they'd saved. It wasn't, typically, a tone he heard directed towards him.

Anders was methodically stripping away Dorian's blood-soaked robes from both ends of the... the severing? Fenris had seen countless severed limbs, had been the cause of a great many of them himself. Why was this one so hard to look at?

"Fenris!" Anders said sharply. "If you're going to faint, do it elsewhere. But if you want to be useful, position yourself where you can grab Dorian's shoulders at a moment's notice. When I start this, it's vital he doesn't move. Do you understand?"

He nodded numbly, but didn't immediately move. He noticed his hand was resting on Dorian's knee. What had been Dorian's knee...

Hawke reached out and pulled his hand away, squeezing it gently before he let it go. "His shoulders okay?" he said, nudging Fenris until he shifted around and put his hands on Dorian's shoulders. "Just like that," he said, covering Fenris' hands with his own. "Do you want me to help hold him still?"

"I'm not a child," Fenris muttered automatically, more or less at the same time as Anders said,

"No, Hawke, I need you down here holding his hips and other leg. Hurry. I must start healing before the flesh starts to die. Cole, help Fenris focus if you can."

Cole's voice came from right beside Fenris. "He's waking up."

Sure enough, when Fenris looked he saw Dorian's eyelids fluttering, his face screwing up into a grimace.

Irrational relief flooded him, making his arms weak and making him furious with himself. He had a job to do. He laid himself over Dorian, pleading, "Don't move, amatus. You must stay absolutely still."

Dorian's eyes when they opened were glazed over with pain and confusion. The panic in them lessened slightly when they met Fenris' gaze. More importantly, he obeyed and didn't try to move.

"What happened? I remember..." He trailed off with a frown, and though he hadn't been moving, he seemed to grow even more still. "I can't feel my leg," he said, voice shaking slightly with fear that he was very obviously trying to control, and Fenris hoped never to hear him sound like that again. "Why can't I feel my leg?"

"Don't think about it," Fenris said urgently. "Anders is fixing it. Just keep focused on me. Only me. And don't move."

Dorian looked like he was about a fingernail's width away from panicking, but he swallowed hard and stared up at Fenris with a shaky determination. "O-only on you, I can do that."

"Good. Just keep doing that. I'm not going anywhere." He swallowed as he knew his own voice wasn't panic-free, and that wouldn't be helping Dorian at all. When he spoke again it was slower, lower and as soothing as he knew how. " _Te amo. In aeternum._ No matter what, I'm here. With you."

Dorian closed his eyes, but opened them almost immediately as if afraid to lose sight of Fenris. "This wasn't exactly how I had pictured us celebrating closing the rift," he joked weakly.

Fenris moved so that, while his weight would still prevent any wriggling from Dorian, he could now hold Dorian's face. "We'll celebrate later when we're out of this Maker-forsaken place. "

"No matter what, right?" Dorian asked. "Even if..." He trailed off, eyes widening suddenly and Fenris felt him tense up, but he stopped himself before he actually moved. "Whatever you're doing, I can feel... well, something." He frowned, eyes distant.

"That's... good," Anders said from behind Fenris. He sounded ragged. "Just, whatever you feel, even if it's pain, stay still."

"No matter what," Fenris said fiercely, keeping his voice low. "Always."

"Distract me," Dorian begged. "Or I will obsess over every little thing I am feeling or not feeling and..." He swallowed the rest of the sentence. "Please."

For want of a better idea, Fenris kissed him.

When he pulled back, Dorian actually breathed a soft laugh. "That is certainly distracting. Though not conducive to remembering to stay still if you keep at it."

"We can tell you a story," Hawke suggested.

"About Fenris?" Dorian asked, his eyes darting towards the direction of Hawke's voice, though he didn't move his head.

"Of course," Hawke said. "What do you want? Something embarrassing? Heroic?"

"Sweet," Dorian said after a moment's thought, his gaze meeting Fenris' again. "Tell me something sweet."

"I don't do sweet," Fenris said immediately.

"It's certainly not your dominating quality," Anders said. He seemed to be making clinking noises. Lyrium potions?

"You have your moments," Hawke countered. "The way you always treated Sandal, for instance. He was fascinated with your markings, and you were always patient with him."

"Hmm," Fenris said non-committally before explaining, "Sandal was the adopted son of Hawke's... butler for want of a better word. Hawke saved the boy, or at least that's what the father thought, so he repaid Hawke by working for him."

"Sandal's a bit simple, childlike even, but he had a talent for enchanting items," Hawke explained. "The only person I've ever seen who can match him actually is the new arcanist working for the Inquisition – Dagna. He used to follow Fenris around like a mabari puppy whenever he was at my place, just staring at his markings. Every now and then he'd ask, 'Enchantment?' and reach out and try to touch them."

"Really?" Dorian asked. As distractions went, it seemed to be working as he sounded less scared and stressed, though Fenris could still feel him tensing every few seconds in reaction to what Anders was doing. "What did you do then, amatus?"

"Apparently, be sweet," Fenris said wryly. "He seemed to think I was some sort of walking rune stone. To start with, I thought he might know something interesting about my markings, but it soon became clear that, if he did, he didn't have the words to tell me."

Dorian frowned then, but it was a thoughtful, not fearful expression. "If you look at it a certain way, he wasn't wrong," he said. "Enchantments are accomplished when lyrium is worked into an item in a specific way with specific intent to give the item a specific ability. At its heart, that was what was done to you." He scowled darkly. "Danarius probably didn't even see the difference."

"If that's the case, maybe you should let Dagna take a look at them, Fenris," Hawke said. "She seems to have Sandal's talent, but with much higher communication skills."

Fenris pulled a face. "Do I have to? She's so... bouncy."

"Yes, you do," Dorian said firmly, then winced, his entire body tensing under Fenris' hold. When he continued speaking, his words were back to being strained, "Anything that can help us understand more about what was done to you can help me to–" He broke off with a groan of pain.

" _Kaffas_! Anders, what are–" Fenris started.

"I'm sorry," Anders interrupted, sounding almost as distressed as Dorian. "I... can't spare the mana to numb the pain. As it is, I don't know if I'll be able..."

"Pain is better than feeling nothing," Dorian said, through gritted teeth. "I can endure it."

"I hate to ask," Anders said, "but do you have any potions left, Dorian? I've used all mine and Hawke's."

Fenris gritted his teeth. "Use me," he said through them.

Silence followed his words for a moment, and it was Hawke who broke it. "You sure?" he asked.

"You don't have to do this, amatus," Dorian said, teeth still gritted against the pain. "I know how... I would never expect you to–"

"Shut up and don't move. Anders, do it."

"I can't refuse," Anders said. "I don't think I can do it without, but you better bloody well not hate me even more for doing this."

Fenris felt hands freeing one of his feet from its strappings, and he tensed but forced himself not to otherwise react. "I won't. I... promise. Just make him whole again."

Anders didn't answer, but hands wrapped around Fenris' foot and then the sickeningly familiar tugging started.

"Fenris." Dorian's voice, strained, but demanding. "Look at me. Just at me. You're amazing. You can endure this, just as I can. We can endure this together."

Dorian was trying to comfort and support _him_? If anything made him feel like he could endure this, it was this, that Dorian with all the pain and horror he had to be experiencing could still care enough to say that.

Fenris managed a nod as he felt the weakness fill him. Anders was taking a lot and taking it fast. "I can't, but... I can hear you," he said as he let his body collapse. "Feel you."

"Guess that means I need to keep talking then," Dorian said, though he immediately paused, a strangled groan escaping him as he panted for breath. " _Kaffas_ , you'd think the dismembering would hurt more than the re-membering," he said, voice high and with a slightly hysterical edge to it.

"Hang in there, both of you." Hawke's voice was calm and clear. "It'll be over soon."

Anders muttered something in response to that, but Fenris couldn't make it out. What with his awareness of and helplessness in the face of Dorian's pain, and the singing in his ears from the mana draw, it was amazing he could make out anything at all.

" _Te amo_ ," he whispered to Dorian. " _Te amo_."

Distantly he heard Cole saying, "They're stronger together. So are you. I can hear him just like you. He wants to help. Let him."

"Fenris, stay with me," Dorian demanded, alarm overriding the pain in his voice.

"I'm here. Just... weak." A flash of blue light hit his closed eyelids. Was it him? He knew he was glowing, but he didn't think he'd flared. "Not going anywhere."

"Ah, yes. Better. That's better." Anders voice seemed suddenly a lot louder. "Now we can really do this."

It was a moment or so later, Fenris wasn't sure as time was another thing he was beginning to lose track of, when he heard Dorian give a breathy, disbelieving laugh. "My foot hurts," he said, sounding giddy. "There is a scrape on the side of my foot, and it hurts, and I can feel it."

"You might have to let that one heal naturally," Anders said in his overloud voice and chuckled before tightening his grip of Fenris' foot and dragging yet more mana from him. "How much more of this can you give me, Fenris?"

Weakness or not, nothing could stop the smile that now curled on Fenris' face. "It's working. You can have the lot if that's what it takes."

"No, you can't," Dorian immediately countered. "I want a functioning leg, but I want a functioning Fenris even more. Just... please be careful to keep him that way."

"Justice says he sees the lyrium very clearly," Anders answered. "We won't drain him. Nearly done now anyway. If it wasn't for the fact we've got to get you out of here, I'd stop now and come back later, give your body a chance to catch up."

"Yes, we all should really try to keep the being maimed to more accessible battlefields," Hawke joked, his voice much more his usual jovial tone. In some ways that was more soothing to Fenris than when Hawke had been actively trying to be comforting because it meant that the worst was past.

"Preferably next to several cartloads of lyrium potions?" Dorian quipped in kind, voice a little shaky, but Fenris could tell it was with relief this time.

He moved his fingers a little on Dorian's chest. "Is... my armour. Is it hurting?"

Dorian huffed out a breathy laugh. "It's not the most comfortable thing for you to be wearing while sprawled over me, but it's of no concern, amatus, truly."

"You can both move now if you like," Anders said. "Ideally I'd like you to take it very easy, Dorian, but... well, just do your best."

"Is it...?" Fenris started, "is he whole again?"

"There's not even a scar!" Anders announced, sounding proud of his own work, but he sobered somewhat to add, "The reconstruction, that flesh is very new. Baby flesh. Treat it tenderly."

"I will," Dorian promised. "Though I expect wriggling my toes is going to become a new favourite pastime." His arms wrapped around Fenris now that he didn't need to lie still, one hand gently carding through Fenris' hair. "Thank you," he said, quiet and heartfelt to all of them.

"You're more than welcome," Anders told him, his voice now back to normal. "Just do me a favour and don't spread the word about what we've done here. It sounds horribly selfish, and probably is, but I need to be with Hawke when he goes into danger, and if the world knew what I can apparently do..."

"I will say nothing," Fenris said, "but thank you, Anders." He hoped his use of Anders' name would show how deeply he meant that.

He closed his eyes. The feel of Dorian's fingers in his hair was... so many things, all of them good, but Fenris needed to see him stand. Strength was returning, slowly but steadily, like it always had with Danarius. He managed to lift one arm. "A little help here?"

Dorian's touch slowed at that, then he was moving more, sitting up and taking Fenris with him, with some help from Hawke. "Is this better?" he asked, the question trailing off a little as he looked down at himself. "Maker, just seeing..." Fenris followed his gaze quick enough to see Dorian deliberately wriggling his foot." Dorian laughed again, sounding giddy. "I'm serious, new favorite pastime, right here."

At some point, they'd stripped Dorian's leg completely, just cut the cloth and leather away. Such was Anders skill, if it wasn't for the dark red stains of dried blood just about everywhere, he would never have known Dorian had been injured at all. He reached out to touch where he thought he remembered the demon had cut. The skin was smooth, hairless, a miracle.

He looked up as Anders passed over some potions to Dorian. Rejuvenation drafts, judging by the colour. "I've prompted your body to dramatically speed up blood production, but those will help too. I've one for you too, Fenris, if you'll take it."

"What about you?" he asked. "Don't you need...?"

"I'm fine." Anders smiled. "Thanks to you and Justice."

"Take the nice rejuvenation draft, Fenris," Dorian ordered, pausing in his consumption of the ones that Anders had handed him. "The sooner we both get our strength back the sooner we can walk out of here."

He was already starting to feel significantly improved, but he did as he was told; there was no good reason why not. As he did, he found himself chuckling, remembering that night he and Dorian had had their impulsive drinking session. Well, remembering what he _could_ remember of it.

Dorian met his gaze, his own lips curling up into a smile underneath his slightly askew moustache. "Healer's orders this time," he pointed out, even as he paused to lift the bottle he was drinking out of in a toast.

Hawke had got to his feet and was walking the perimeter of the area, gathering up remnants from the fight, pausing every now and then to look over at the rest of them and smile. The smile turned into a frown this last time and he turned on the spot searching all around. "Where's Cole?"

"He'll be around somewhere," Anders said, but looked around seeming equally puzzled. "He always is."

"Cole?" Fenris raised his voice. He knew the spirit was cross with him, but hadn't thought he'd go back on his promise to always be visible to Fenris.

"I'm here!" Cole's voice came from the doorway through which they'd entered this cavern. "Too many steps on the way we came in. I found a smoother path to go back up."

"Oh, well done." Anders said. "That's a relief." He pulled himself up to his feet and stretched, rolling his shoulders. "Let's hope we can get back to camp with minimal bandit-related interruptions."

"At least the undead will now be a finite supply," Fenris said, testing out his muscles to see whether he too was ready to stand. He decided he probably was.

"We're all covered in enough blood – especially me – that our very appearance should scare off most bandits," Dorian said. "I throw a horror spell at them, and they should all go running." He looked around. "If I could get a hand up...?"

"Yes," Fenris said immediately, scrambling to his feet. "Mine." He held it out to Dorian, pleased that he was only feeling slight light-headedness now.

Dorian looked searchingly at him for a moment before taking the proffered hand and letting Fenris haul him to his feet. He leant heavily on Fenris at first, but quickly found his balance and took several tentative steps. "I swear," he began, that giddy laughter back in his voice, "if I ever complain about walking anywhere ever again, all of you have permission to throw things at me."

Anders watched him carefully. "How does it feel?"

"I keep thinking it should feel different somehow, less certain, but it feels... normal. Fine." He looked up from where he'd been watching his feet to meet Anders' gaze. "Like nothing happened. _Thank you_. I don't think there's any way I can say that enough. You are a miracle worker. In the literal sense."

"I didn't do it alone," Anders said with a smile, "but I'm very glad it worked."

Fenris moved his gaze between Dorian and Anders. At some point when it was just them, he was going to need to talk with Anders. No, more than talk, humble himself. He wasn't looking forward to it, but it had to be done.

Hawke had returned to Anders' side and slid an arm around his waist, dropping an affectionate kiss on his cheek. "Do you two feel up to getting out of here?" he asked, looking at Fenris and Dorian. "If you need more time, we can wait a little–"

"Oh no," Dorian interrupted. "We can go now. Just..." He glanced at Fenris, gaze assessing. "Slowly, at first, all right?"

"Not just at first," Anders insisted. "An easy pace until we get to the camp. After a night's sleep to strengthen the new bonds I've made, I'll feel a lot happier about you walking about."

Fenris stood close to Dorian and said nothing, just made himself available should Dorian need a crutch. As for himself, he was tired, yes, but he had years of experience of pushing his body past what it thought were its limits. He could get where they were going even carrying Dorian.

No, far more alarming than any fatigue he felt, was the deeply uncomfortable lump that seemed to have formed in his throat. He didn't know why it was there and didn't want to know. More to the point he didn't want anyone present to know either. He locked eyes with Cole and thought as hard as he could that if Cole felt obligated to talk to Fenris about feelings, could he _please_ wait until it was just the two of them.

Cole frowned a little, but nodded his head ever so slightly.

"Slowly it is then," Hawke said, as he handed Dorian's staff back to him. "If we're all ready, Cole, lead us out of here."

***

It had taken twice as long for them to make the surface as it had for them to descend despite the shorter route, but they'd made it out eventually to find that the endless rain had finally come to an end. Dorian had almost been disappointed as the rain would've at least washed the worst of the blood covering him away. Instead, that had to wait until they made it back to the nearest, established Inquisition camp, where he had managed to jury rig a bathing apparatus that, with the added application of just a touch of fire magic, hadn't even been all that uncomfortable to use.

His robes were a complete write off, and the rest of his things had been left at the fort, so Dorian had ended up in borrowed clothes from one of the Inquisition scouts stationed at the camp for the time being. Being dressed in unfamiliar clothes just added to the surreality of the situation as he headed back to the tent he and Fenris had been given for the night.

He was acutely aware of every step he took and knew he would be for some time to come. Every one was a gift, a blessing he wasn't sure he actually deserved but which he would honour as best he could. And it wasn't just that they had saved his leg, it was the lengths everyone had gone to, the effort made on his behalf. That they would even try to do the impossible for him meant almost as much as the fact that they succeeded.

Those were the thoughts when he ducked into the tent. "All clean, finally," he'd said, holding out his arms in his borrowed clothes as if to illustrate the point. "The outfit is a bit... something, but I suppose it's better than walking around camp naked."

Fenris smirked from where he lounged on the bedroll. "There's something to be said for nude camping." His smirk dropped into something more concerned. "How are you now?"

"Physically? A bit tired, but fine. Amazingly so." He looked down at his feet, wriggling his toes in his boots just because he could. "If I hadn't just had to spend so much time scrubbing my own blood off, I would be wondering if it had all been a nightmare."

"I've been thinking about that – the blood." He pulled a wry face. "Three mages, desperate circumstances, an ample supply of blood. Yet no blood magic occurred." He took a deep breath, sitting up. "I'm not sure what my point _is_ actually."

The idea of using blood magic hadn't even occurred to Dorian at the time, and he was fairly certain it hadn't occurred to Anders or Hawke either. "I was taught that blood magic is the resort of a weak mind," he said as he settled onto the bedroll beside Fenris. "Perhaps the point is that none of us are weak-minded."

"I've always known that of you and Hawke," Fenris claimed, reaching up to touch Dorian's face. His hand seemed to be trembling a little although it steadied as his fingers traced Dorian's lips.

Dorian kissed Fenris' fingers, then shifted so he could comfortably stroke a hand through Fenris' hair. It was, he had learnt, something he could do that would soothe both of them. "But not Anders," he said in as neutral a tone as he could manage. He didn't want Fenris to think he was judging or accusing him.

"No, not Anders." Fenris leant into the touch, his eyes closing. "I was wrong, and I have to admit that to him somehow."

"That would mean a lot to him, I think," Dorian said, remembering the conversation he'd had with Anders on the way to Crestwood.

"Yes, I'm sure he'll enjoy it." Fenris made a sound of exasperation and straightened up. "However much crowing I have to endure, both he and I deserve it. I'm not sure I can ever repay him for what he did for you today."

"It was a miracle I will forever be thankful for, but it wasn't just him," Dorian said, reaching out and taking Fenris' hands in his own. "It was Anders' skill, but he never would have been able to do what he did if you hadn't let him use your lyrium. I know how hard that must have been for you to allow him to use you like that." The fact that Fenris had done that for him without even a second thought meant more than Dorian had the words to express.

Fenris snorted softly. "It was a surprisingly easy decision when it was for your wellbeing. Anyway, the point Hawke has been trying to drive home appears to be true. I trust Anders."

Dorian leant in and kissed him. "Just say that to him. That, I think, will be all you have to do." He paused. "And I don't think there will be as much crowing as you fear."

"It was strange," Fenris admitted, moving his hand up Dorian's made-new leg, "being so helpless but not caring, not about myself."

"I was terrified," Dorian admitted, closing his eyes briefly to just focus on Fenris' hand touching him there. "Until you let Anders draw on your lyrium, and then all I could think about was you." He let a ghost of a smile touch his lips. "I wasn't any less terrified, it just wasn't all about me anymore."

"Danarius believed caring for other people made you weaker. Just one more thing he was wrong about." Fenris kissed him, slowly and gently.

Dorian wanted more than that and wrapped his arms around Fenris as he kissed him back, putting all his awe and gratitude and affection into it. " _Te amo_ ," he murmured when they parted just enough to breathe.

" _Te amo_ ," Fenris replied in a low whisper and closed the small gap to start the kiss again.

***

"Don't tell the others," Anders said, flopping back onto the bedroll, "but I'm exhausted." He did indeed look tired, the shadows under his eyes darker than normal, the eyes themselves red in the corners. The jaunty grin he gave Hawke, however, gave lie to the 'exhausted'.

The look Hawke gave him in return was made up of equal parts admiration and awe. He'd been shooting Anders similar looks on the entire journey back to camp. "You did something amazing that I've never heard of anyone else doing ever. You're allowed to be exhausted."

"Oh, it's been done before," Anders said ruefully. "Just look at Orsino. He stuck all sorts of bits of flesh together."

"Maker, what a comparison to make." Hawke shuddered, the action exaggerated but with a hint of genuine horror at the center. "What you did was a miracle. What Orsino did was an abomination."

"What he did was awe-inspiringly stupid. Blood magic, pah!" He looked seriously at Hawke. "I didn't do it alone. Without Fenris and Justice, I wouldn't have succeeded."

"It was a group effort, I know." Hawke stretched out beside him and reached to pull him close. "But none of it would have been possible if you weren't the best damn healer I've ever seen or heard of. You're allowed to be pleased about that, love."

"I am," Anders said, grinning widely as he rolled to face Hawke. "I'm a bloody genius!" He laughed. "Take that, you Kinloch bastards. So I was good at nothing but escaping, was I?"

Hawke with grinning back at him just as widely. "You're good at so many things, but with healing you're in a class of your own. And Maker help me, but that's hot."

"Oh yes?" Anders said, his grin taking a challenging slant. "How hot is that exactly?"

"I wanted to rip off all your clothes and have my wicked way with you right there where the rift closed," Hawke told him. "If we'd been alone I probably would've."

"If we'd been alone, there wouldn't have been anything to get so excited about." Anders chuckled as he ran his hands under Hawke's tunic. "But we're alone now..."

Hawke made a show of looking around the tent. "We do seem to be, yes." He leant in to trail nipping kisses along Anders' jawline and throat. "Lucky me."

Anders tipped his head back. "Lucky both of us." His skin seemed to almost fizz under the touch of Hawke's lips. "I think I'm still a little Fenris-charged. That isn't just normal lyrium under his skin, it's... distilled somehow."

"Distilled? What do you mean?" Hawke asked curiously though he didn't actually stop what he was doing. In fact, he turned Anders' head with a brush of a finger so he could place additional nipping kisses on the other side of his throat more easily.

"Concentrated." Something Anders was finding it increasingly hard to be. "No, more than that. It... It restores itself."

Hawke lifted his head briefly to look at Anders. "Like how a normal body restores blood when it's lost?"

He nodded. "Exactly like that."

"So.. it's a system, not just lyrium branded into his skin." Hawke shook his head in wonder then dropped a kiss on Anders' mouth. "Maybe you should join in on any talks with Dagna Fenris and Dorian end up having about his markings. It sounds like you can offer some unique insight."

"I doubt Fenris would welcome my presence or my input." Anders said, frowning slightly. "Unless I can manage to be very, _very_ tactful, and genius though I am, that's not one of my skills."

"You might be surprised. He let you draw on his lyrium," Hawke pointed out. "That's something he's never let anyone do."

"He _really_ loves Dorian," Anders said, shaking his head. "I don't believe there's anything he wouldn't do for him." He met Hawke's gaze. "Just like you and me."

"He does." Hawke smiled at Anders then like he was the sum of everything good in the world. "You saved Dorian's leg and his life. Imagine how you'd feel if someone did that for me."

"Fenris isn't me," Anders pointed out, but he remembered the way Fenris had looked at him afterwards when he'd called him by his name. "But maybe... maybe this has healed something between us." He paused and then grinned. "Can but hope."

"Either way, you deserve a reward, and I'd like to give it to you. Would me stripping you naked and doing my best to turn you into a puddle of pleasure be an acceptable recompense?" Hawke asked, grinning.

"Oh absolutely!" Anders grinned back. "Get to it, then."

***

The next morning they headed back to the fort, stopping to check on the village on the way only to discover the mayor had run off, leaving behind a written confession that he had been the one to flood Old Crestwood in the first place. His claim that he'd done so to stop the spread of the Blight did nothing to make Hawke feel any sympathy for the man. Hawke had far more up close and personal experience with the Blight than he ever wanted. Even if every single person that had drowned had been infected, it didn't make the mayor's actions right. Blight-infected or not, they were still people. No one deserved to die like they had.

It set him into a funk for the rest of the morning, at least until they made it back to the fort, and he had a chance to speak to one of Leliana's people there, sending people out after the mayor to bring him back to face justice.

The situation with the Wardens was critical, however, so that was all the attention he could spare for the mayor right now. In fact, once Anders had declared Dorian fit for travel as long as he continued to take it as easy as he could, and they had restocked, they were on their way out of Crestwood, starting the long trip to the Western Approach before sundown.

"You know, once you get rid of the endless rain and hordes of undead, the area's rather pretty in a rustic sort of way" Dorian observed, nudging his horse into step with Hawke's soon after they set out.

Dropping his dark thoughts about the mayor, Hawke smiled at him. "That's a polite way of saying there's too much wilderness, isn't it?"

Dorian allowed himself a chuckle. "Something to that effect, yes. I fear as adaptable as I have found that I can be, I will always feel more comfortable in a city than out in the middle of all this," he gestured at their surroundings theatrically, " _space_."

"Varric feels the same way."

"The dwarf is a wise man."

"How are you feeling?" Hawke asked, nodding towards Dorian's leg. "Honestly?"

"Honestly, I'm a little more tired than I would be normally – a lingering effect of almost bleeding out, I expect – but other than that, I'm perfectly fine," Dorian replied. "And yes, I know how miraculous that is. Your Anders is amazing, and he will have my good will and gratitude for the rest of my life. And not just mine."

Dorian nodded his head to where Anders was riding, a few feet away. When Hawke followed his gaze, he saw Fenris guide his mount into step beside him. Hawke swallowed back a chuckle because if it was possible to ride sheepishly, Fenris was doing it. Hot on the edge of his amusement though came the burn of curiosity to know exactly what they were saying.

"You know," Dorian said casually, "there was this spell I perfected back when I was just a young troublemaker. I find it can be quite useful even now in certain situations. It can carry certain sounds across a greater distance than they would normally be audible from. Here, let me demonstrate." He raised one hand and made a delicate gesture. Hawke felt the small ripple of magic around them as Dorian cast his spell, and then he could hear Fenris and Anders as if they were riding right next to them.

"No, not at all," Fenris was saying, "I simply wished to talk to you."

"About what?" Anders asked, sounding cautious, perhaps overly so considering how restrained Fenris had sounded.

Fenris made a helpless little noise before managing, "That I'm grateful... and sorry."

"Well, I think I can work out the 'grateful' part, and you're welcome," Anders said. "Or at least Dorian is as – meaning no disrespect at all, I promise – I didn't do it for you. The 'sorry' part?"

"I, uh." Fenris coughed, the sound distortedly loud via Dorian's spell. "I may have misjudged you. A lot."

"May have?" Hawke could practically hear Anders' eyebrow raised in that challenging way of his.

"All right, did. I did misjudge you, and I'm sorry."

There was a long pause, and nothing obvious was to be seen between the two when Hawke glanced over, then Anders said, "Clearly Dorian should lose limbs more often."

Beside Hawke, Dorian let out a laugh which he quickly muffled. "Anything to help the cause, but hopefully that won't be necessary."

Hawke smiled slightly, but didn't speak, afraid he would miss some of the conversation. He probably should be feeling guilty about eavesdropping, but this was something he'd been, frankly, wanting for years to happen, and he was going to listen to every glorious word since he'd been given the chance.

"You're not making this easy," Fenris said, a hint of his growl in his voice.

"Is there any particular reason why I should?" Anders asked, but then he sighed. "For what it's worth, I don't hold anything you said to or about me while in Kirkwall against you. You had your reasons, and Kirkwall fed off resentments. It's not like I didn't say plenty in return... and you weren't wrong about all of it, either."

Another pause, then Fenris said, "But since Kirkwall?"

"Since Kirkwall, well, I accept the apology. Thank you." Anders took an audible breath before continuing. "And while you're in the mood for peacemaking, might I ask something of you?"

"What is it?" Now Fenris sounded cautious.

"Would you _please_ stop calling me 'abomination'?"

"Ah. I didn't think it bothered you. You never react."

"Believe me, I do," Anders said, his voice rueful. "Inside. It hurts because it was almost true, back in Kirkwall. I have nightmares about how close Justice and I got to it."

"Cole said you–" Fenris stopped. "Nevermind that. I'll stop calling you it. You have my word."

"Thank you," Anders said. It sounded heartfelt.

Hawke found himself smiling though he tried to hide it. "Maker, I think that's a bigger miracle than what happened yesterday. The next thing you'll know, Carver and I will have a heart to heart about our feelings."

"Who would need to lose a limb for that to happen?" Dorian asked curiously.

Hawke huffed a laugh. "If you ask Carver, probably me."

"What did Cole say?" Anders asked in that deceptively casual tone of his that always set alarm bells ringing in Hawke.

But Fenris simply answered, "Nothing important. He was cross with me for calling you... that word. This new agreement of ours will please him."

Anders snorted with humour. "So are we best friends now?"

"I wouldn't go that far!" Fenris said, sounding mildly outraged.

Anders laughed and then, miracle of miracles, Fenris did too.

"Hawke says he thinks you and I are like siblings, like him and Carver," Fenris said, still sounding amused.

"Ah yes, that one," Anders replied ruefully. "Well, I think we can both agree that's a load of nug bollocks."

"You'll have no argument from me on that."

Hawke sighed dramatically. "That _would_ be the one thing they agreed on." He paused. "I'm completely right though, whatever they say."

"We all have our delusions we live with," Dorian said, not clarifying whether he meant Hawke, or Fenris and Anders. He repeated that graceful gesture from earlier and released the spell.

"Thank you," Hawke said. "Not that I advocate eavesdropping on the people closest to me but–"

Dorian made an exaggeratedly innocent face. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I was merely demonstrating a quirky little spell I mastered in my youth. Nothing more."

Hawke chuckled. "Of course, my mistake."

"You're welcome," Dorian said, dropping the facade and speaking plainly. "You've had to listen to them snipe at each other for years; you deserved to listen when that stops." He paused. "Or at least pauses."

"It was gratifying," Hawke agreed.

"Plus, if I'm helping you eavesdrop, I can listen in myself with a clear conscience," Dorian added.

Hawke threw his head back and laughed. "I'm not sure it works that way, but... I won't tell anyone if you don't."

Dorian nodded firmly. "Deal."

***

Mindful of his plea the day before, Cole waited until Fenris had ridden away from Anders before approaching him.

He was perched on the back of one of the extra horses the expedition had brought along as relief mounts, and he asked her politely to speed up enough to catch Fenris. She obliged with a happy little whinny.

"Thank you," he told her politely, patting her neck as she surged forward. He was growing fond of this particular horse and so was spending more time riding her than the others.

In no time at all, she had caught up to Fenris and fallen into step with his horse.

"That was good. You made him hurt less," Cole said then, putting extra effort as always into sticking in Fenris' vision and mind.

Fenris made a slant of his mouth. "I thought you'd be pleased. I'm... glad it had that effect on him."

Cole felt a burst of warmth at Fenris thinking about him, much like he did when he was able to help someone. "He's better now, like I'm better now. We don't forget, but it's good to be seen as we are instead of what we were." It was as close as he could get to explaining why Fenris still calling Anders and Justice 'abomination' hurt him beyond the hurt he felt in them.

"What he did for Dorian..." Fenris winced as his head filled with the memories. So much red. "I'll never be able to repay him."

There had been so much emotion flying around the day before from all of them that Cole was still sorting through it. A lot of the pain and fear he'd felt had fortunately resolved itself when Dorian had been healed, but there was still remnants, like tatters of a torn tapestry tumbling in the wind. He touched them cautiously, trying to keep them from becoming all tangled and knotted "You didn't want me to say anything. Yesterday."

"Thank you for obliging me. Do you... Do you want to know why?" Fenris glanced at Cole. "It's not easy for me to talk about, but I will."

"Yes," he said. He wanted to understand better so he could help more without hurting when he tried. "Please."

Fenris was a long time replying. He seemed to be trying to get his swirling thoughts in order. "If," he started, "I'd tried to speak about my feelings then, I would have broken down. That would have distressed everyone present, but especially Dorian. I didn't want to add to his burden. I needed to be strong for him. More than that, I would have found being so out of control extremely humiliating, not healing at all. It would have made everything worse."

Cole thought about that, and the images he saw from Fenris' mind that went along with his words. And while he didn't think the others would have reacted as negatively as Fenris was picturing, they _would_ have been distressed. "You... held onto your own hurt so as not to hurt the others," he said slowly, beginning to understand.

"Yes." He thought some more. "Feelings are like fire. They can warm and brighten, but they must be kept to the right place and time. Otherwise they're dangerous." Now his mind darkened, thickened. "Once all emotions were dangerous. Then I was free, but my mind... wasn't. Everything I felt had to become anger. Nothing else seemed safe. Not then."

"Strong when I'm angry. Have to be strong. If I show weakness it can be used to control me. I won't fall into that trap again," Cole recited, putting words to wordless feelings that were flashing through Fenris' memory. "You didn't feel the chains when you were angry so you thought it was only being angry that kept you free."

Fenris closed his eyes, his mind awash with painful memories. He was quiet as his mind settled down again, then he opened his eyes. "And now, what emotions I feel tend to be... fierce. I've never learnt the subtlety that others seem to possess."

"You feel everything so fiercely because you _are_ free. Like a dam bursting and water running wild as it pours out, going wherever it wants." Cole wasn't certain if Fenris could see how much of a triumph that was, but _he_ could. "It calms and slows when it finds its balance without being restrained."

Doubt stirred in Fenris. "If you say so," he said, but he didn't believe.

"You said it yourself – you _are_ getting better," Cole said, trying to convince him. "You still run fast and wild because freedom is heady. But there is already a calm, still place inside you, and you can touch it when you have to. You do with Dorian when he needs it. Not just yesterday."

The mention of Dorian provoked a murky mix of emotions. So much joy, of course, but now there was also fear. Now Fenris had had to face just how much he needed Dorian alive and with him.

"He feels the same way," Cole told him. "Love and hope and joy whenever he thinks about you, but tendrils of fear tangled around and through. I can't shake them loose in him either." Something occurred to him then. "I think... it's like you said about people – no one is all good or all bad. This is like that. You can't have something that is _so_ good without a little bad. Or you wouldn't be real people."

"You're right." Fenris smiled at him. "I think we're both learning."

Cole smiled back, feeling that warmth again. "I hope I helped."

"You helped a lot by not speaking out loud what you were sensing from me," Fenris said. He seemed to know that wasn't what Cole meant and frowned. He wanted to be honest. "As for today... well, I thought I owed you an explanation."

"Thank you," Cole said. He had felt how hard it had been for Fenris to talk about all this, but it had helped, both Fenris and himself. "I understand more now."

"I probably do too," Fenris said, looking over at Dorian and smiling absentmindedly.

Dorian looked up just then and caught Fenris watching; Cole could feel the pure burst of happiness from the mage as he smiled back. "You make things better for him," he told Fenris. "When he looks at you, he forgets for a little while all the things that hurt him."

Something like anger spiked inside Fenris, but under it was dismay. "What's hurting him? He said his leg was fine. Is it his father still?"

Cole felt dismay of his own; that was not the reaction he had wanted to engender in Fenris. "Partly his father, yes. The tangles of hurt are all mixed up with love," he explained. "He holds it too tightly for me to tease free. It's... become part of who he is."

The urge to help Dorian surged strongly in Fenris. "I'd like to do more than just help him forget for short periods,"

"You _do_ ," Cole reassured him. "Always glittering, performing, a peacock distracting with his brilliant plumage. But underneath the snake, shedding its skin and laying itself bare, willing to fight for who he is. The crest, it's me, it's _me_. He sees, he _understands_. Maker to have someone see the real me and still want me..."

Fenris stared at Cole for a few moments and then nodded. "The real him is perfect."

"You make him believe that," Cole told him. "That's how you help."

"It works both ways." Fenris cast another glance Cole's way. "I suspect you know that."

"Yes." Cole smiled. Fenris and Dorian soothed each other's hurts in ways they were still getting to know. Seeing that made Cole happy the same way helping someone himself did. "It's good!" he declared.

"Yes, it is." Fenris nodded. "Very good indeed."

***

Varric watched as newly filled bags were loaded onto what had to be barely rested pack ponies. The animals looked tired and so did the collection of folk he'd be joining as they continued on to the Western Approach in Orlais. It looked quite a journey on the map, and apparently the need to get there was urgent, so he had to hope that people and horses both had more reserves than appearance suggested.

The main focus and reason for all this activity was absent however. Varric looked around and saw him approaching from the direction of the stairs to the keep. "Hawke," he said with a smile, "feeling like a slave driver yet?"

"More like the slave who's being driven," Hawke retorted, a wry tired smile on his face when he looked at Varric. "Crestwood was... intense."

"I heard rumours," Varric said, looking over to where Fenris and Dorian were standing with Anders. "Sparkler looks, well, not worse than any of the rest of you now. Do you want to tell me about it?"

Hawke followed his gaze, the smile still on his face as he looked at the other three, though it faded a little when he turned his attention back to Varric. "It was one of the most horrifying and at the same time one of the most amazing things I've ever been privy to. Just as I was finally closing that blighted rift, one of the demons got through Dorian's defences and took his leg clean off." What looked like a completely involuntary shudder ran through Hawke's frame. "Anders saved Dorian's life, then went on to fix his leg too. There's not even a scar now, which would be amazing enough. Throw in that Fenris let Anders draw on his lyrium to do it..."

"He really has fallen for the mage from Tevinter. Who'd have thought it." Varric chuckled, but inside he was thinking over what Hawke had said. "So Blondie just... stuck the leg back on?"

"Well, yes, essentially, but that makes it sound like he just got a pot of glue and used it," Hawke said with a snort of humour. "It was a lot more complicated than that. He had to reattach everything that's in your leg – bone, muscle, blood, nerves, skin. It was probably the single most incredible piece of magic I've ever seen."

"I knew he was good, but..." Varric whistled. "Has it ever been done before?"

Hawke shook his head. "Not to my knowledge. Anders brought up what Orsino did when we were discussing it, and there was... what happened to Mother, but that's far from the same thing."

With a shiver, Varric shook his head. "Nothing in common at all. So... I'm not imagining the three of them standing together over there chatting happily? Has peace broken out over a newly whole Tevinter?"

"Fenris thanked him," Hawke said, suddenly wearing a smile that could only be described as beaming. "Used his actual name. _Apologised_. Gave his word not to call him 'abomination' anymore when Anders asked." He coughed and lowered his voice. "Not that I am supposed to know any of that. There may have been some eavesdropping involved..."

Varric typed his head back and laughed. "Of course there was! Trust me to miss the one outing in which the impossible finally happens. The elf and Blondie friends? It's almost less believable than Broody and Sparkler bonding."

"See, I knew you would understand. Everything that's happening and that is the most impossible of the lot. And the most welcome."

"Yeah, something to savour." Varric couldn't help the grin that now dominated his face. "You realise miracle healings within your inner circle are only going to add to your spreading fame, don't you?"

"If it makes people realise what Anders is really like instead of just thinking of him as the Chantry's Most Wanted, I'll deal with it," Hawke said, heartfelt.

"Oh, that Chancellor guy is already working wonders on that score. Ever since we got here, he's been telling everyone who'll listen that Blondie's just the victim of bad reporting, more or less."

Hawke blinked at that and then started laughing, shaking his head. "The man wanted to clap me in chains and haul me off to Val Royeaux even after I stabilised the breach. Not that I'm not grateful for his change of heart, but every time it's pointed out I just can't help boggling over how much of a 180 he did."

"Healing makes friends. Who'd have thought it?" Varric laughed. "On a less impressive note, the Seeker and I have been working together, and we've managed not to kill each other yet, though there's been some close calls."

That got him raised eyebrows from his friend. "You and Cassandra working together? What on?"

"Seeker stuff," he said with a shrug. "Seems like they've disappeared as well. They don't seem to be with the remaining rogue templars, so where has Lucius taken them? And, because everything else seems to lead back to Corypheus, does this too?"

"At this point I'd be surprised if something _didn't_ lead back to Corypheus," Hawke said drily. "You've found out anything yet?"

"Maybe. I threw out a few hooks as I figured Leliana's gang had enough to be looking into. Fished up all sorts of tiddlers and old boots, but also a few fish worth the effort. Maybe. A place in North Ferelden called Caer Oswin has seen some activity recently, including people wearing big eyes on their chests. Seems that the local Bann has maybe decided he's an ally. He's known for fickle loyalties."

Hawke frowned, eyes going distant as he thought, then he shook his head with a sigh. "As much as I want to I can't look into it just yet. This thing with the Wardens has to take precedence. I don't think I even can spare many Inquisition forces – we're going to need them all if the Warden thing gets as bad as I have a feeling it's going to. But as soon as it's dealt with..."

"I get it. Pretty sure the Seeker does too. Things to do are building up fast for the Inquisition, and the Wardens, with their prior association with the Big C, have gotta come first. Hence the whole 'no rest for the heroic' thing you've got going on here." He waved a hand towards where the preparations were coming on apace.

"And somehow, the part where the heroes are running around in an exhausted fog, running solely on adrenaline, rejuvenation potions and sheer willpower never makes it into the stories," Hawke observed, giving Varric an arched eyebrow, then sighing again. "I'd like to give the others a chance to rest and recuperate – Dorian at least – but Fenris has decided I'm not going anywhere without him to act as bodyguard, and I'm pretty sure Dorian isn't going to let Fenris go anywhere dangerous without him. And _they_ would be easy to convince in comparison to Anders, so I guess we all drag our weary, heroic bones across the whole of Orlais together." He looked at Varric. "I was going to ask if you wanted to come along, but if you'd rather stay and help Cassandra..."

Varric gave him a look. "And miss yet more miraculous happenings? No, thanks!"

Hawke grinned at that, looking relieved. "Excellent! I wanted to give you a break, but truth is I missed having you along. It's nice to be able to rely on having one person along who's always been relatively sane compared to the rest of us."

"That's me, Mr Sanity. Example to would-be sidekicks everywhere." Varric winked. "Seriously, Hawke. While certain muscles were glad to avoid the saddle for the time you were gone, it didn't feel right somehow. No more leaving me behind."

"Everyone keeps saying that to me. First Anders, then Fenris, now you," Hawke said, with something like exasperated affection.

"Aren't you better off for having us there?" He knew that the answer, however complex the process of getting to it, was always going to be 'yes'.

"I am, certainly," Hawke said with easy honesty. "I'm just not entirely sure all the time that _you_ are."

"Let us worry about that. We're not children. We can make our own mistakes and our own good decisions too." He smiled to take any possible sting out of his words. "You don't need to parent us."

Hawke laughed aloud. "And suddenly I am picturing myself trying to order Anders and Fenris to either apologise to each other or go to bed without supper, like Mother used to end up saying to me and Carver far too often when we were young."

"Did it work?" Varric asked curiously.

"You've seen how Carver and I interact," Hawke said drily. "What do you think?"

"I think you're both strapping men and unlikely to have gone without many suppers during your formative years!" Chuckling, Varric shook his head. "I suspect you knew just how to get around her proscriptions, probably with the use of magic, and I strongly suspect you shared whatever contraband you managed to get with your brother."

"More we had a soft-hearted sister who would sneak us both food and make sad eyes at us until we stopped fighting," Hawke said with the bittersweet smile he always wore when speaking of Bethany.

Varric nodded and patted Hawke on the back in silent sympathy.

"Protecting Bethany and trying to make her happy was often the only thing we agreed on," Hawke said softly.

"I'm sorry she never made it to Kirkwall." It was an odd thing to say in some ways, considering all that happened there, but he knew Hawke would understand what he meant.

"You would've liked her," Hawke said, again with that bittersweet smile. "And she would've adored your stories."

"She would've been part of my stories, I'm sure. Did she specialise in any particular kind of magic?"

"She had a talent with force magic, though it wasn't something she liked to use too much." Hawke sighed. "She never was really comfortable being an apostate on the run all the time. Didn't have the taste for adventure and danger Carver and I have. She would've been far happier having somewhere she could peacefully study her magic and not have to hide. Of all of us, she would've done the best in a Circle, I think. Or what a Circle should've been, instead of what they were."

"Maybe it was best she never saw Kirkwall then," Varric said with an apologetic grimace. "Place wasn't good for siblings. Or mages."

"It would've been better than being crushed by an ogre," Hawke said, then grimaced himself. "Sorry. It's just... of the three of us Hawke children, she was the one that least deserved that fate. Mother never got over losing her. Honestly, I don't think Carver or I have either. It.. it's one of the things that always hangs between us when we talk now. That there's only two of us where they should be three."

"Yeah. It's a big loss to get over." This wasn't the first time they'd talked about Bethany, but Varric was happy to listen any time Hawke wanted to go there, and he'd opened up more this time than he had before. Varric wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. Was Hawke starting to heal? Or had something opened old wounds?

Hawke shook his head and opened his hand as if he could drop the melancholy. "And I have far too much to do to spend time being maudlin. Bethany wouldn't have wanted me to do that anyway. Though... maybe when all this is over, if the world doesn't end, I'll see about visiting where Lothering used to be, see if I can find where she..." He stopped and swallowed. "It would be nice if there was some kind of marking, something to honour her. And Aveline's husband, and all the other people who died there, but mostly Bethy."

Varric nodded. "I'll dedicate the next volume of Hawke's Improbable Adventures to her if you like. Seems strangely fitting."

That earned him a smile. "She would've liked that, I'm sure."

"Then consider it done."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _...in which Venatori suffer interruptions._

The trip to the Western Approach was not a short one and covered ground that they – or at least Hawke – hadn't covered yet. Which meant that they were going to encounter many rifts along the way that they were just going to have to stop and close.

Dorian wasn't about to admit it, but he was a little nervous at doing so considering what had happened the last time he helped close a rift. But you got back on the horse when you fell off, and he wasn't about to let his nerves control him, so he gritted his teeth, made a note to better keep his guard up, and went into the fight like he wasn't aware of every step he took.

And it was fine. It was better than fine, actually, it was _normal_. Or at least what passed for normal since a hole had been torn in the sky. Dorian's nerves calmed soon after the fight started and by the end he found himself even enjoying it in that strange bloodthirsty way that combat could be enjoyable. By the time Hawke closed the rift, Dorian was grinning widely, casually spinning his staff through his fingers and being vaguely disappointed it was over so soon.

"You stood too close to the rift." Fenris had appeared at his side, his sword still drawn.

Dorian laughed a little at that, still riding his battle high. "As magical as I am, I wasn't about to get dragged in, amatus."

Fenris had a set look to his jaw. "You're a ranged fighter, like archers. You stand back, get an overview of the battle, and cast where needed. You take out the enemy's ranged men. You cast barriers on those taking damage or about to, which shouldn't be you. Your staff should be used as a physical weapon only in emergencies."

Dorian felt his eyebrows going up in surprise. "Are... are you trying to instruct me in how to properly fight as a mage?" he asked, incredulously.

"Yes!" Fenris started pacing back and forth. "You're as bad as Hawke. Watch Anders. He knows where to stand. And if enemies try to get into close quarters, he uses that ice spell and moves back from them. The only people being hit by metal weapons should be those wearing metal!"

"I ended up here because I fade-stepped out of the way of an attack," Dorian pointed out, still more incredulous than anything.

"An attack that wouldn't have happened had you stood back from the fight! You would've been able to see it coming." Fenris stopped pacing and took a deep breath, looking down. If it was meant to help calm him down, then it didn't work, and Fenris' fists were still clenched, his posture tense. "You have to be able to see them coming, Dorian," he repeated in a lower tone.

"I did see it coming. That's why I fade-stepped _out of the way_." Dorian did his best to keep his own voice even, in spite of a growing irritation at having his abilities questioned.

Still looking down, still speaking in the same low tone, Fenris said, "You don't always."

_Oh_. Of course he wasn't the only one who had gone into this fight haunted by the outcome of the last. Just like that, Dorian's irritation was gone. "Fenris," he said softly, reaching out and wrapping his hands around Fenris' fists. "Amatus. I'm here. I'm fine."

"You have to learn caution, Dorian," Fenris said, moving closer and now sounding more upset than cross. "I can't... I can't bodyguard you both. It's enough he takes such stupid risks all the time. Amatus, please."

Dorian leaned in and kissed him, trying to impart comfort however he could because he was sure his words weren't going to. "You have to trust me to know what I'm doing. Trying to change on the fly the way I've fought for my entire life would put me in more danger," he said, keeping his voice as gentle and understanding as he could. "I know it's hard to stop thinking about what happened – believe me, I know. But I can't let that have me running scared. I won't."

Fenris looked up, looking alarmed as well as worried. "Proper caution is not the same thing as cowardice. Lack of caution is stupidity. _You_ are far from stupid."

"I am, in fact, absolutely brilliant," Dorian agreed. "Also, rather fond of breathing and being in one piece. So trust me to be brilliant. I am not going to take unnecessary chances."

Fenris looked like he was about to argue more, but in the end he just swallowed and nodded, muttering, "Sorry."

In response to that, Dorian kissed him again. "No one's ever cared enough to be overprotective of me before," he said, smiling, trying to convey the warmth and wonder he felt that Fenris actually did. Yes, it wasn't something he wanted to be dealing with long term, but as a perfectly understandable reaction to a near tragedy he would cherish it as the sign of affection that it was.

Fenris managed a slanted smile and looked around them, which drew Dorian's attention to the fact that the others had all drawn back, giving them some space. Fenris made a disparaged noise deep in his throat and stepped back. "I'm an idiot. I know."

"Not an idiot," Dorian countered, refusing to let go of Fenris' hands and stepping closer when Fenris stepped back. "I would hardly fall in love with an idiot now, would I?"

"Falling in love with me might be your only flaw," he said dryly. "My taste, on the other hand, can not be denied."

Dorian stole one more kiss before stepping back. "We will continue this discussion tonight in our tent," he declared, eyeing their carefully not paying attention companions. He raised his voice for the next bit. "Where there will hopefully be less people hovering trying desperately not to look like they're eavesdropping."

"This will appear in a book," Fenris agreed dolefully. "I know it."

"Yep," Hawke said cheerfully from nearby, confirming the eavesdropping. "Welcome to the 'subjects of Ser Tethras' literary aspirations' club."

Fenris shared around a sour look equitably. He was obviously not impressed.

Dorian found he himself was more bemused than anything. "Face it, amatus," he said to the scowling Fenris, "we are the stuff of epic tales. A romance between an altus and a former slave? Both men? How utterly scandalous and enticing! Just think of the shock on the faces of everyone back home when they read it." He looked over at Varric. "If you do write it, you'll make sure to send my father a copy, won't you?"

Varric grinned and made a saluting wave with two fingers to his temple then away.

Fenris sighed heavily. "Are we planning to hang around here until another rift opens?" he asked loudly.

"Just waiting on the two of you to be done giving Varric scene ideas," Hawke said, still cheerful.

Dorian reflected he probably should be embarrassed and outraged, but... he just wasn't. These were Fenris' friends – _his_ friends as well now – and to have them so openly tease the both of them felt more like some kind of rite of passage than something to be embarrassed about.

It made him feel like he belonged.

***

Hawke allowed himself a small sigh of relief when the ritual tower they'd agreed to meet Carver and Felix at appeared in the distance. Despite the fact that they rushed as much as they could, it still felt like it had been far too long to make it across Ferelden and Orlais, with Hawke always aware there was a countdown to something horrible happening.

Something horrible was probably still in the cards, but at least it appeared that they had made it in time to try and do something about it.

Carver and Felix were both waiting just outside the tower entrance, looking grim. So grim that Hawke bit back on his first joking greeting and instead nodded seriously. "I'm not going to like this, am I?" he said instead.

"No one sane would," Carver replied darkly, "which says little for my fellow wardens. There's only a few of them in there, but they're doing some blighted stupid ritual as far as we could tell from our spying point, demons aplenty and lots of blood. So let's get in and stop it."

"While there are any left to save," Felix put in.

And wasn't that just a happy start to the afternoon. Hawke scowled, and gripping his staff tightly, strode through the entrance, sure that the others would be just steps behind him.

They had to go through a courtyard to reach the tower proper, and it was while they were crossing it that Hawke began to make out sounds coming from up ahead, low voices, some scared and some regretful, though he wasn't close enough to make out the words.

More than that, he could feel how the air was heavy and charged with magic and blood, smell that particular combination of ozone and sulphur that regularly accompanied demon summoning. The fact that his brain immediately tagged all of that sensory information as "like Kirkwall" was something he didn't want to look too closely at.

It did, however, make him walk faster, clearing the entrance to the actual tower just in time to watch a warden mage slay another warden and use his blood to summon a demon.

Nearby, several other mages and demons were gathered watching the proceedings passively, piles of corpses wearing warden armour nearby ignored by them as if they weren't even there.

Fenris flashed bright as his marks ignited.

"Good," said an amused voice from the back of the scene. "Now bind it just as I showed you."

The warden in the centre held a glowing hand up to his newly summoned demon. Some quiet communion took place; then the two moved calmly to one side, making space for Hawke and his people to see who stood beyond them on a slightly raised area.

Clearly a Tevinter mage judging by clothes, bearing and the accent that they'd heard, this had to be Magister Erimond. His hair was lank and black, his nose curiously similar in shape to his pointed beard. He wore a smirk so smug it could curdle milk yet in the teet.

He unwisely took the sudden appearance of Hawke and his retinue as an opportunity for mirth. "Inquisitor," he crowed, sketching an elaborate bow, "what an unexpected pleasure. Lord Livius Erimond at your service."

"You'll be at my mercy before we're done," Hawke all but snarled at him. "You and the rest of your venatori friends." His next words he addressed to the wardens. He had to get through to them, keep this from becoming any more of a bloodbath than it already was. "Wardens, I don't care what this man has told you, he's lying to you. Erimond serves an ancient Tevinter magister who wants to unleash the blight. It's him you have to thank for the false Calling you're all hearing."

"That's a very serious accusation," Erimond said in a singsong tone almost like he was speaking to children. "Let's see what the wardens think." He looked at them and commanded, "Wardens, hands up!"

As he lifted his own hand, so the wardens lifted theirs, taking no notice of Hawke whatsoever.

"Hands down," Erimond continued and the wardens obeyed.

"They're possessed, or near as damn it," Anders said. "This ritual to bind the demons also bound them."

"Corypheus has taken control of them," Carver growled, lifting his sword.

"Is that the last of the ones Clariel let slip?" Erimond asked, apparently delighted. "Excellent, a veritable bundle of opportunities. As for your brothers at arms, they did this to themselves. You see, the Calling has the Wardens terrified. They looked _everywher_ e for help." He pantomimed a shrug.

"Even to the Venatori and blood magic," Fenris said coldly. "What fools."

"Yes," Erimond said, sneering down at Fenris. "And since it was my master who put the Calling into their little heads, the Venatori were prepared." He put a hand to his chin. "I went to Clarel full of sympathy, and together, we came up with a plan. Raise a demon army, march into the Deep Roads, and kill the Old Gods before they wake."

So Stroud had been right and this was how Corypheus intended to achieve that part of the dark future they'd seen.

Privately, Hawke wondered how anyone sane could think a plan that included the phrase "demon army" was something they needed to try, but he wasn't going to give Erimond the satisfaction of castigating the Wardens. It was clear at the moment, insane plans or not, the Wardens were the victims. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and drawled, "Ah, I was wondering when the demon army was going to come up."

Erimond looked a little taken back at that. "You... knew about it, did you? Well then, here you are. Sadly for the Wardens the binding ritual I taught their mages had a side effect. It's just like your monkey said. They're now my master's slaves."

"Monkey?" Anders said, sounding outraged as if it was that word more than all the rest of the vile stuff being spewed that offended.

"This was a test," Erimond went on, getting into full-blown villainous monologue mode now. "Once the rest of the Wardens complete the ritual, the army will conquer Thedas."

If Erimond was allowed to get that far, it could very probably happen. So Hawke had to make sure it didn't get that far. "Release the Wardens from the binding and surrender," he commanded, tensing himself for what he was sure was to be a fight. "I won't ask twice. You're lucky I'm asking once."

"Am I?" Erimond laughed and held out his hand. Red energy coalesced around it, and Hawke felt a sharp, dragging pain in his marked hand. "The Elder One showed me how to deal with you in the event you were foolish enough to interfere again."

It was like it had been when he first woke up with the mark, his hand throbbing and pulsing with a pain so intense it drove Hawke to his knees. He distantly heard voices raised in alarm, but for that moment could focus on nothing but the pain.

Anders was there at his side. Somehow even through the pain he knew that much, but inasmuch as he could think at all, he doubted healing magic could help.

"That mark you bear?" Erimond was saying, the words slipping through the agony like goads, "the anchor that lets you pass safely through the veil? You stole that from my master. He's been forced to seek other ways to access the Fade. When I bring him your head, his gratitude will be–"

Hawke hadn't let the pain of the mark put him down back in Haven and he wasn't about to let it do so here. Gritting his teeth, he climbed back to his feet and held his marked hand out, pulling on the energy Erimond was throwing at him like he would if he was facing a rift. He felt the by now familiar tug of growing tension and then with a snap and a large burst of green light the connection between them was severed and the pain immediately disappeared.

Erimond cried out, falling backwards. He clearly hadn't expected resistance. Struggling to his feet, he took just one look at Hawke, his allies gathered behind him, and commanded the warden/demon pairs as he staggered off. "Kill them!"

"You little weasel!" Hawke yelled at him, before he had to turn his attention to the demons and warden mages attacking.

The fight was brief, but vicious. As much as they might have wanted to save the bound Warden mages, in the end they had been forced to kill them all. It was as disheartening as it was bloody. And, of course, when the battle was over, Erimond was nowhere to be found.

Hawke paced back and forth over the bloody battleground, swearing a blue streak, his magic still crackling around him, a perfect accent of his mood. It took a lot to make him truly lose his temper, but this definitely had done it.

The others stood around him as he paced. They knew better than to try to soothe Hawke until he'd calmed down a bit. Anders was still trying to find life in the pile of corpses, even though they all knew there would be none.

Or maybe he was looking to see if he recognised any of them. Carver certainly had. He was now standing off to one side, his back turned, Felix close by.

"Who knew they made humans out of slime these days," Varric commented to no one in particular. "Slippery and revolting."

"He's the kind of magister that gives the whole Imperium a bad name," Dorian all but spat. "There's far too many like him back home, I am ashamed to admit."

Hawke forced himself to stop pacing and take a deep breath, trying to calm his anger. "Blood magic. Why is it always blood magic?"

"It's easy," Fenris said.

"If you're not bothered by any pesky empathy," Anders added.

"Or you're too scared to be thinking clearly," Dorian put in. "At least, if you already accept that your goals are more important than any rules of decency and restraint. That's a mixture for almost guaranteeing bad decisions."

Hawke shook his head. "Fear isn't a good enough excuse. Nothing is. Nothing can be. Everyone has a story they tell themselves to justify bad decisions. And it never matters. Bad decisions are still bad decisions. In the end, you are always alone with your actions."

Carver approached. "They killed their brothers and sisters for power. People that they'd fought alongside, relied upon. Because they were scared, not for themselves, but for the world. As if the world would be better off with a demon army in existence. The stupid, stupid bastards. Wasn't one of them capable of thinking for themselves?"

"Perhaps the false Calling makes it difficult to think straight," Anders suggested. He got an exasperated look from Carver in return.

"And I'm so strong that I can resist that fog?"

Anders shrugged. "Why not? Hawke blood _is_ strong. The world knows that."

"You are arguably the most stubborn person I've ever met, brother," Hawke said. "If anyone could resist a false Calling, it would be you."

"Felix can still think," Carver pointed out with a shrug. "And from what you've told me, Ferelden still has a king and queen too." He sighed, looking grim. "I think I know where that weasel ran off to, or at least where the rest of the Wardens might be holed up. They're not at Griffin Wing just to the north; that's full of a Venatori infestation all right, but no Wardens that we could see or sense. It's just a halfway house, anyway. Adamant Fortress lies to the west – Warden property, long abandoned, but huge and highly defendable. Why come to this strange spot just for their 'test'? They have to be close."

"Makes sense," Dorian observed. "After all, no one would want to call up a demon army out in public. It's just not done, even back home."

"Great," Hawke grumbled. "So all we have to do is break into one of the most famous fortresses in existence, fight through an army of bound wardens and demons, and then talk sense into the idiots who thought 'demon army' was a brilliant solution to their problem."

"Is that all?" Dorian snarked. "Might be a bit late making it back to Skyhold. We'll have to send word to the cooks to hold dinner plans."

"And while they're at it, send an army," Fenris said. "We'll need one by the sound of it. Hasn't Cullen been itching for something like this?"

Hawke looked over at Varric. "You've been saying I need to find him a war or something," he said drily. "This seems like it would fit the bill."

"He'll be salivating at the thought," Varric said, chuckling. "He's had that slightly perturbed, commanding expression perfected for weeks now. Finally he'll have a chance to use it."

"It will take them a while to get here," Anders pointed out. "What shall we do in the meantime?"

Hawke looked around and grinned. "I'm sure we can find some trouble to get into while we wait. It's a big desert, full of bad guys."

"Clear Griffon Wing Keep of Tevinter forces," Carver suggested. "Might be good practice for Adamant."

"That could make a good staging area for our dear Commander when he gets here," Dorian observed.

"No arguments here," Hawke said, then turned to his brother. "A Warden keep should definitely be in the hands of a warden. We'll call it an early birthday gift for you."

Instead of looking pleased, Carver pulled an exasperated face. "What am I meant to do with a fort?"

"Oh, I don't know," Anders drawled. "Use it as a base to rebuild the Order after this catastrophe is over?"

If anything, Carver's expression grew more exaggerated. "Me? Why me?"

"Why not you?" Felix said and laughed. "You're the only warden of any seniority around here who still takes the job seriously."

"Can't think of anybody better," Hawke said, still grinning. "You keep complaining about me being thrust into positions of power. This is going to be your turn now, little brother. Man up."

"VIP though you may be, brother, I don't think you have the power to promote me. If the Order is so broken it needs me to rebuild it..."

"You have Stroud's vial of archdemon blood," Felix said, earning himself a scowl from his superior.

"I'm holding onto it until someone from Weisshaupt comes for it, that's all. I don't even know the damn words for the ceremony." Carver looked down. "They weren't really said at my initiation, or if they were, I was too ill to hear them."

"Mine was... rushed too," Felix admitted.

Hawke glanced at Anders. "I'm sure there's someone you can ask that can help you out with that," he said. "Or make up your own words." He stepped closer to Carver, reached out to grasp his shoulder, and lowered his voice to give them at least the illusion of privacy. "This is what it's like. You get shoved into a situation you're not prepared for and don't really want the responsibility, but saying no would be even worse. So you suck it up, stuff the fear as deep down as you can get it, put your head down and barrel through. You fake it until you make it. You can do this, Carver. You're a Hawke, after all, aren't you?"

Carver looked as if he couldn't decide between punching Hawke and crying on his shoulder. In the end, he turned away. "It doesn't matter, not for now. I'll take care of things until someone else either relieves me or tells me to do it officially."

"So, first, scout out the keep," Varric said. "Or rather, that's second. First is to ask Harding to send one of her ravens back to Skyhold."

"And third, I suppose, would be actually taking the keep," Dorian said. "Which will involve killing a lot of venatori." He gave a tight smile that was rather close to the bloodthirsty grins Fenris tended to wear when there was the prospect of killing slavers. "I'm rather looking forward to that part."

"Presuming these Tevinter _are_ venatori," Anders said, "but they probably are. Why else would they be here?" He sighed. "There has got to be more 'good' Tevinter than you three in existence, surely. I guess they stay at home."

"I know of at least one more," Varric put in. "A relative of sorts. I told you about her." This last was directed at Hawke.

"Oh?" Doiran looked interested. "There is a sizable dwarven embassy in Minrathous though I confess I've never associated much with any of them."

"She's tall for a dwarf," Varric said and winked, but then he seemed to take pity on Dorian and added, "She's not a blood relative; she's my late cousin's widow. She's definitely a good sort, possibly the only magister to which that applies. She doesn't even seem to hold it against me that the last time we saw each other... well, let's just say plans went bad and leave it at that."

"A magister who's the widow of a dwarf...." Dorian's eyes widened. "Maevaris Tilani? Mae is your cousin?"

Varric raised his eyebrows. "You know her?"

"I do! She's a good friend actually. She took me in after my fath–" Dorian stopped himself mid-word and swallowed, then continued. "After the last time I left home. Gave me a place and time to get myself together and figure out what I should do next." He traded a knowing smile with Varric. "She understood some of the... difficulties that come from not fitting the mould."

Varric nodded. "Now that I think about it, I can see a little of her influence in you, Sparkler." He looked serious when he added, "She's one of the strongest people I know. Biggest hearted too."

Fenris had been watching this conversation with interest, albeit with a doubtful look on his face. "You never mentioned her before," he said to Varric.

"Broody, until recently, mentioning to you that I was related to a Tevinter magister would've been a little too close to suicidal for my liking."

Fenris scowled. "I wouldn't hurt you for having the misfortune of relatives, dwarf."

Hawke coughed into his hand. "You were a little... single-minded when it came to mentions of magisters back in Kirkwall," he pointed out carefully. _Single-mindedly homicidal_ would probably have been closer to the mark, but Hawke was trying to be diplomatic. "Varric probably thought it better not to get you going off on that tangent again. Besides," he added, "he never mentioned her to me back then either."

Varric snorted, smiling fondly at no one in particular. "Isabela knows her. Alistair too since our little adventure together."

Dorian laughed, delighted. "Of course Mae would have random adventures with the king of Ferelden."

Varric's fond smile fell. "It did her no favours, helping us. I owe her, getting her involved like that."

"What happened to her?" Fenris asked, sounding carefully neutral.

"Aurelian Titus happened. Don't ask for details; they're not mine to give." Varric shrugged and fidgeted as if trying to escape a hold. "I told you all the story on the way back from Denerim. If I missed out some details, it was for good reason."

He hadn't so much missed out some details as failed to mention Maevaris completely when he'd told the story about his adventures with Alastair, which was odd now that Hawke came to think of it, as Varric had already acknowledged her existence to those that had been present in the inn when Alistair had brought up the subject.

"A tale that Varric is unwilling to tell," he said, letting it lie for now. "That's gotta be some story." He looked at his friend. "Something to revisit in private over drinks when all of this is over. But for now we should head back to camp, get that raven off to Skyhold and then turn our full attention to ousting the current Tevinter cult out of my brother's fort."

"It's not my-!" Carver stopped himself and shook his head, muttering, "Maker, help me."

"We should probably send someone back here to clean up this place," Anders said with a sigh, looking around at the various bodies. "What a waste."

Hawke sobered at that, looking down at the remains of brave men and women pushed too far from fear and desperation. Mentally he added them to the ledger of sins that Corypheus was going to have to answer for. "Let's do our best to make sure they have as little company as we can manage, shall we?" he said, the words coming out softer than he'd intended.

"A big 'Maker will it' to that," Varric said fervently, and everyone nodded as they hoisted weapons and made ready to depart.

***

That night, they sat around the fires at camp, talking quietly and resting. Messages had been sent, scoutings had been done, and the plan for attack on the fort had been formed. Tomorrow was going to be another busy, bloody day, but in the end, hopefully, they would have something better than sand-filled bedrolls to sleep in. At least for a little while. In the meantime, they had a little time to catch their breath.

Dorian smiled a little as he watched Felix go back for a third bowl of the tasteless but filling stew the soldiers at camp had prepared. "It's good to see you eating with enthusiasm again," he commented. One of the symptoms of the blight that they had never been able to alleviate had been Felix's lack of appetite.

"It's a Warden thing, apparently," Felix said with a sheepish grin. "One of two things we have in common with pregnant women, so I'm told."

"And the other?" Dorian asked curiously.

"Having something that isn't entirely us inside us." Felix shrugged, giving Dorian a hapless smile.

"That is an incredibly disturbing way of looking at it," Dorian told him, shuddering dramatically. "For both wardens and pregnant women. Though still better than that alternative, I will admit."

"Consider Anders' lot then – a powerful spirit _and_ the Grey Warden taint." Felix chuckled. "It's fortunate he can't get pregnant really."

"Maker, that poor man's been through enough already, don't you think? Don't even suggest such a thing."

Felix raised an eyebrow. "Been bonding, have we?"

"He saved my life," Dorian said simply, with none of the theatrics he might have used talking to someone else or about something less... profound.

Felix frowned. "You're not just talking battle healing, are you? Not with that tone. What happened, Dorian?"

"We were closing a rift. A demon got through my defences." Dorian paused to take a drink out of the cup he was holding, to hold the fear of that moment back while he talked about it. "Took my leg clean off."

Felix's eyes widened. "What?" He stared down at Dorian's leg. "Which one? I mean... I don't know what I mean. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Completely and totally." He stuck his leg out and wriggled his foot in demonstration. "I don't even have a scar. Thanks to Anders. He healed it. Healed me."

"That's... incredible. I didn't even know it was possible." He paused, still staring at Dorian's legs. "All the way off?"

"I would have been setting the fashion for peg legs if Anders wasn't the miracle worker that he is," Dorian said. "And it wasn't just him – that spirit of his helped provide the power he needed... and so did Fenris."

"Of course he did. That shouldn't be a surprise," Felix grinned. "I notice he's sporting a fine decorative piece on his belt."

"Yes." Dorian could feel himself smiling like an lovesick idiot, but he couldn't stop it. "He said you gave him some advice on it. I owe you thanks for that. When he showed it to me for the first time, I..." He trailed off, shaking his head and lowering his gaze. "I don't think I have the words."

He felt Felix' hand on his shoulder. "I'm happy for you. After everything, you deserve this more than most."

"I'm not sure I'd go that far," Dorian said with a laugh though his voice had a catch in it. "But I'm not giving it up now that I have it. And if you can give me the name of the craftsman that you gave to Fenris, I would be much obliged. I have some ideas for a crest of my own to wear..."

"So long as Fenris is okay with that." Felix chewed on a fingernail a little before adding, "He might not want you to be able to work out the price he paid."

Dorian blinked. The thought had never even occurred to him. "I... does he really think that would make a difference to me? As far as I'm concerned what he did, what he designed, it's priceless."

Felix looked pained.

"That's not it though, is it?" Dorian asked, quick mind re-evaluating the situation. "You're not worried that I'll think he didn't spend enough, but that he spent too much."

Felix let a little breath out and nodded. "And now I've rather dropped him in it. Think about it though. A slave has nothing, and they were forced to flee Kirkwall in a hurry, not that I get the impression he ever spent any money on himself when there."

Dorian took a deep breath and let it out, taking time to figure out his reaction to this news. "Do I expect or want him to spend all his money on me? No, of course not. But that he thought me worthy of that... it means something. It makes this all the more priceless and meaningful." He swallowed hard against the emotions that threatened to pour out of him then, and focused on another point. "Beyond that, Fenris is no longer a slave. He is a free man and he does have possessions now, even if they are still few in number. I would never tell him what to do with any of them, that would be..." He shook his head. "Well I don't ever want to do anything that makes him think I see him for even a second as anything less than a free man."

"Of course not." Felix nodded. "You are absolutely right, of course. And now he does have a very fine possession of his own."

Dorian found himself starting to second guess the idea of creating a crest that spoke of Fenris the way Fenris' crest spoke of him. "Do you think I shouldn't do this?" he asked. "Make a crest to match the one he had made for me?" He trusted Felix to be able to see clearly when he could not, and moreover not to pull any punches with him.

"Good question. Hmm." Felix frowned as he thought. "Maybe something the same but different? Like a ring perhaps?"

"I do look good in rings," Dorian observed.

"You'd say that whatever I suggested," Felix told him with a grin.

"I look good in a lot of different things," Dorian defended with a shrug. "The list of things I don't look good in is the much shorter of the two."

"Chantry sister's robes?" Felix suggested with a twinkle in his eye.

Dorian shrugged. "I doubt Fenris would be into that kind of role play, but..."

Laughing, Felix said, "Okay, okay. Back to the topic of rings. Have you considered getting a pair of rings enchanted with a linking spell?"

That stopped Dorian short. He hadn't, and now that he was considering it, the idea made him... nervous. "I don't... you don't think that would be too much? Too presumptive?" _Too needy?_ he thought but didn't say.

"Dorian, the man spent practically everything he had so he could wear a symbol of you on his belt. How could it possibly be too presumptive?"

"Well, when you put it that way," Dorian muttered, feeling his face heat in response. He sighed, and given that this was Felix, made himself continue, speaking of fears he wouldn't to anybody else. "It's just... I've never felt like this about anybody before. I certainly never had anyone feel this way about me. I... I just don't want to ruin it."

"Talk with him about it first then," Felix advised. "He may need to be reassured on the limits of the enchantment either way, considering that some people back home use a one-sided version of the enchantment in their slave collars."

Dorian found himself shaking his head no before Felix had even stopped speaking. "I can't... if there's even a chance he could see this as some kind of sick reminder of slavery-"

"By not even talking to him about it, you're making his decisions for him," Felix pointed out, rather wearily.

" _Vishante kaffas_!" Dorian scowled at his friend, knowing he was right. "If he reacts badly to this.."

"He won't once he knows all the facts. Quite the opposite, I'd bet."

"I hope so," Dorian said. "The last thing I want is to hurt him in that way. I said and did so many hurtful things when we first met because I just didn't understand how bad slavery really was. I never want to do that again."

"It's the way we were brought up," Felix said unhappily, "even those of us from kindly households. There's no prompt to question it until something shocking happens. All we can do is try our best to change once we realise we need to... and try to do something about its existence if we can."

Dorian sighed. "The list of things we need to change back home is so long that some days I can't help but wonder if we wouldn't be better just writing the whole thing off and starting over." He managed a slight smile for Felix. "You're right of course. At the moment the best we can do is try to change ourselves. And cherish the unexpected rewards that come from doing so."

"Aren't we a maudlin pair tonight?" Felix sighed and stretched. "I wonder if there's any more of that stew."

Dorian burst out laughing at that and handed over his still half full second bowl. "Here. I was about done anyway." He stood and looked across the fire to where Fenris was talking with some of the Chargers. "And I have something I should discuss with a certain handsome elf before I lose my nerve."

"Now? Well, best of luck!" Felix laughed as he made short work of finishing off Dorian's food.

***

Some fighter or elven sixth sense warned Fenris that he was being approached, but he doubted it was either of them that made him hope it was Dorian. When he saw that it was he couldn't help the broad smile that took over his face.

Turning back to Krem, he said, "I'd like to continue this conversation later, if I may."

"Fine by me," Krem answered with a knowing smile. "You go and warm up your vint's cockles."

"His... what?" Fenris waved a hand. "No, never mind. I don't want to know."

"The cockles of his heart, you ass!" Krem roared with laughter.

Fenris pulled a face and turned to meet Dorian.

Dorian looked between the laughing Krem and Fenris with a raised eyebrow. "Do I even want to know?" he asked, amusement in his voice, arms crossed elegantly over his chest.

"It isn't worth repeating," Fenris said, attempting to steer Dorian away via an outstretched arm. "How is Felix?"

"Hungry," Dorian said with laughter colouring the word, as he fell into step beside Fenris, the two of them walking away from the others. "It's good to see him so happily eating again although the amount is somewhat disconcerting." He glanced fondly at Fenris. "He thinks quite highly of you."

"As I do him. The two of you confound my prejudices, and now there seems to even be a magister worth knowing." Fenris shook his head. "My eyes have been opened," he added wryly.

"Ironically enough, having our eyes opened was one of the things Felix and I were talking about – about how there were so many things we never really noticed or understood until we had our faces shoved in it." He smirked wryly at Fenris. "I rely on you to continue to shove my face in things I have wilful blind spots about. Which... brings me to something I need to discuss with you, actually."

Fenris raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming. "You want me to shove your face into something?"

"Hah!" Dorian laughed, eyes twinkling. "Only if I do something that warrants it, although you have a way of making that sound disturbingly like something I would like far too much. Perhaps we can explore that later, yes?"

"By all means," Fenris said, chuckling too. "So what did you need to discuss with me, amatus?"

Dorian grew more serious then as he turned to face Fenris fully. "An idea that Felix gave me, something I'd like to do, very much. But Felix also pointed out that it might be too reminiscent of certain abuses sometimes perpetrated on slaves back home. I have no wish to make you uncomfortable or remind you of... things better forgotten."

Fenris felt his mood become... uncertain. He found it hard to imagine Dorian wanting any of the things his head now swam with, but... what could he mean? "What did you want to do?" he asked, strong caution in his tone.

"We were discussing that amazing crest you had made–" Dorian reached out and touched it where it sat proudly on Fenris' belt "–and what I could do that would have similar impact. I thought perhaps a ring, and Felix suggested two rings, one for each of us. Enchanted to link us, so we would always know where the other was, perhaps even _how_ the other was. It would be something I'd have to talk over with Dagna when we get back, I'm sure she would be able to tell me the limits of what we could do with..." He visibly stopped himself, took a deep breath and met Fenris' gaze. "I would like to do this very much, but only if it is something you would like as well. I know it might be too similar to the kinds of enchantments customarily woven into slave collars and the like back home, and I would never consciously do something to imply I think of you that way. If this is too close, just tell me, and I will never bring it up again."

If the subject had been less serious, Fenris would have been amused at Dorian's rush to get that all out. Although the fact he'd slowed right down at the end showed, Fenris thought, just how important that bit was to him.

"A ring isn't a slave collar." he said slowly, still working backwards through everything Dorian had said. "A ring can be taken off. A matching pair of rings is different again. You're not asking me to accept something you're not also accepting yourself. Do I want to be able to find you, no matter what? The answer is yes, but... I'm not sure I should." He met Dorian's gaze. "Should I?"

"Perhaps it isn't something one _should_ want," Dorian conceded, "but since I want the same thing, I find I am in no position to condemn it. I'm the one who brought up the possibility in the first place, remember?"

Knowing they were still too close to prying eyes in the camp, Fenris put his hand on the small of Dorian's back and encouraged him to walk again. "Not here. I find the need to touch you right now to be... powerful."

He could feel the muscles under his hand flex and relax before tightening up again as one kind of tension was replaced with another. "Is that so?" Dorian asked, falling into step beside Fenris easily, relief evident in his eyes, even as they flared with a familiar heat. "Just how powerful exactly?"

"Very much so. That you want us–" He stopped talking. This had to wait until... aha, rocks. Big rocks. He grabbed Dorian's arm and pulled him behind them, then gently backing him into the biggest rock. "Much better," he said with a slanted smile, pushing close.

Dorian raised his arms to rest them on Fenris' shoulders, the beginnings of a smile touching his lips. "So I take it the idea doesn't disturb you then?"

"It does, but not for the reasons that had you worried." He sighed, rubbing the side of his face against Dorian's arm. "I want it too much."

"I'm not sure exactly what you mean by wanting it too much," Dorian said, cocking his head to the side in curiosity. "Oh, granted, objectively, the whole idea could probably be seen as being too much by people who are not us, but neither of us have made a habit of conforming to other people's expectations."

"True enough." Maybe he was making a fuss about nothing. He looked up, meeting Dorian's eyes. "Promise me something?"

"Of course," Dorian replied immediately.

"If we do this, never hesitate to take yours off if you need to."

Dorian frowned a little. "I can't foresee there being a time where I would need to, but of course, you have my word I will do so." He laid a gentle hand against Fenris' cheek. "If you will give me the same promise. The choice to wear such a ring or not is always your own."

"Of course." Fenris nodded but really only gave the matter half a thought. "It's just... remember how I acted after the first rift fight after Crestwood?"

"Like a particularly broody mother hen?" Dorian said, mouth curving up into a teasing smile.

Fenris winced. "The rings may encourage me to act like that again, only more so."

Dorian's gaze softened then. "You were scared. After what happened in the caves, it wasn't without good reason. I admit I had a few more nerves than normal going into that fight as well. And it wasn't like you forbade me to fight or anything completely ridiculous. Even at your worst you didn't tell me not to fight. You just were trying to get me to fight in a way that you thought was safer. And you backed down when I assured you that I, brilliant mage that I am, knew what I was doing. Perhaps not entirely happily, but the fact remains you did not persist. Was it a bit overprotective? Well, yes, I can't deny that. But like I told you then, no one has ever cared enough about me to be overprotective. That means something. It means quite a lot if I'm being honest."

Fenris touched Dorian's face with his fingertips. "I have never learnt how to be gentle about love."

"I don't want gentle," Dorian told him, leaning into his touch. "Gentle can be too close to apathy. It's too quiet, too easy to forget when things get difficult. For the longest time gentle and careful was the best I thought I could hope for. I don't want gentle, I want _real_. I want fierce and frantic, growling and glowing, bites and bruises. I want to feel your gaze on me like a touch and your touch like a brand. I want us to yell at each other like lunatics when we're angry and afraid because we know we can, and it won't change the most important things. It won't change us or what lies between us."

Fenris found himself staring, his mouth open, his head swirling with Dorian's _perfect_ words. They were too good, too right, to possibly find any of his own to answer them, so he instead gave Dorian what he'd just said he wanted, in the form of a kiss so fierce and wild it threatened to consume them both.

Dorian made a small sound in the back of his throat and seemed to be trying to wrap his entire body around Fenris, like he could possibly get any closer. He was panting for breath when the kiss finally ended, and he rested his forehead against Fenris', lips curled up into a giddy smile. "Why," he said, laughter and heat in his voice in equal measures, "would I ever want gentle when I could have that?"

"Some people seem to." Fenris found suddenly that he hated the idea of 'gentle'. "What I feel for you is– to repress it would be... would feel like slavery." He hadn't meant to say that. The words had just appeared on his tongue.

In response, Dorian stared at him, eyes wide, mouth hanging up a little, before kissing him again, every bit as fiercely as the first.

***

Hawke nudged the body of the now very dead leader of the local Venatori with his boot and shared a grimace of distaste with his brother. The Inquisition scouts were doing a final sweep to make sure there weren't any more pockets of resistance, but to all intents and purposes the fort was now theirs.

The final fight had been hard and dangerous, but over quickly. The worst part hadn't really even been the fighting; it had been the incessant boasts and blind worship of Corypheus that the leader had insisted on shouting the whole time.

"Maker, I hate the mouthy ones," Hawke muttered, nudging the body again.

"I imagine they feel much the same about us," Varric said dryly as he and the others joined them. "The alive ones, anyway. The way I see it, people as fond of blind obedience as this one are always going to lose in the end. They've sacrificed the ability for thinking on their feet."

"Or thinking at all," Carver added. "It just makes the kill all the more satisfying because then they finally shut up."

"There is that." Hawke caught the glint of the sun off something on the dead leader's belt and leaned over to grab it. "Look, a key," he said, holding it up for inspection. "Shall we take a look around and see if it unlocks anything interesting?"

"Do let Varric check for traps along the way, love," Anders said with a wry smile, coming to stand close. "Otherwise we may find the wrong kind of 'interesting'."

Fenris was staring down at the body, looking pissed off about something. He kicked it casually, just enough to move it slightly. "It's insulting really."

"What is?" Dorian asked, raising his head from the spell books, he'd liberated from the persons of several dead Venatori.

"That our enemies are so stupid," was Fenris' explanation.

"You'd rather they were masterminds?" Varric asked, raising an eyebrow.

Fenris just shrugged.

"It could also be seen as reassuring," Dorian pointed out. "It means that the truly intelligent mages back home didn't buy into Corypheus' insanity."

"There is that," Fenris said, giving Dorian a slanted smile. "But a Tevinter full of only highly intelligent blood mages and slavers isn't necessarily better."

"Point," Dorian conceded. "But at least they wouldn't be _insulting_ as enemies."

"We'll worry about enemies highly intelligent enough to stay out of this after we've taken care of Corypheus," Hawke put in, the glimmerings of a few ideas taking form. After all, he would need something to do with this great big Inquisition after they took down the darkspawn magister from the dawn of time, wouldn't he?

"Interesting chest over here," Varric called out from one side of the parapets.

They all strode over to find Varric kneeling, his toolkit open on the ground beside him as he poked around the lock and the lid seal looking for traps.

"Always a pleasure to watch a master at his craft," Hawke observed, the sight something familiar from all the adventures he and Varric had had together over the years.

Varric chuckled. "Want me to be the one to try the key incase I haven't been quite as masterful as we both think I've been?"

Hawke tossed him the key. "Only because we both know you are that masterful."

With a satisfying click, the key turned. Varric opened the lid. From inside, he removed a lot of important looking papers, passing them to Hawke; a pouch that a quick look suggested was full of coin and gems; and, most interestingly, a small statuette of a dragon. It was intricately carved, perhaps from greenstone. Varric held it up for all to see.

Dorian made a sound of recognition and held his hand out. "Let me see that!"

Varric handed it over with a shrug. "Recognise it?"

"It's a talisman," Dorian finally said, still absently fidgeting with it. "A good luck charm, in essence. The conceit behind it was you sent a bit of magic into it and the old gods would grace you with their touch. Practically, it was built to reflect any magic back. They were all the rage in Tevinter – a thousand years ago. There's a few in museums in Minrathous and several of the Circles. As artifacts go, this is both very, very old and very, very valuable."

"What's it doing here then?" Anders asked, moving closer to Dorian to peer at it. "Nice carving," he commented. "Can you tell if it's been re-enchanted at all? Some reason to explain why it's here?"

Hawke was glancing through the papers and realised he was looking at the answer. "They've discovered some ancient Tevinter ruins near here," he said. "That's where it came from."

"If this is an example of the things they found there, we could be talking about something with untold historical value, even if there isn't anything more... esoteric," Dorian said. "Though chances are if the Venatori were interested in it, there will be far more than just old good luck charms there."

"We've still got days before Cullen's promised army gets here," Fenris said with a glance at Dorian. "Do the papers mention where the ruins are precisely?"

"In a canyon to the east," Hawke said, after quickly scanning the rest of the report. He looked up and grinned. "Field trip, anyone?"

"Isn't that exactly what you said before we went to that Bone Pit place?" Carver asked.

"I doubt we're going to find a dragon's nest this time," Hawke said, with an airy wave. "Probably."

"Actually there is a dragon here, supposedly," Felix put in. "It's to the south though."

"Well, that's all right then," Varric said with a roll of his eyes. "I assume we're setting up here first."

"That's what all those extra support troops are for – doing the boring stuff like setting us up in a fort," Hawke said. He glanced at his brother. "Unless you want to take that over – the fort's going to be yours after all."

"I wish you'd stop saying that," Carver said, sounding cross. but Hawke could tell he wasn't really. "We're coming on your field trip. You won't get rid of us that easily."

"I'm not trying to–" Hawke bit off his reflexive denial and took a deep breath. He was usually pretty good at ignoring his brother's jibes, but every now and then one of them still hit a nerve. "I'll be happy to have you along,"

"Of course you will," Carver said with a grin. "Someone's got to keep this rabble of yours in order."

"Charming," Anders said with an obvious pretence of taking offence.

"So if I'm part of the rabble, does that make you the respectable one?" Dorian asked Felix. "Well it wouldn't be the first time."

"It would probably be the first time that Grey Wardens were considered the respectable option, however," Felix said. "Most people seem to think we're all ex-murderers, traitors or worse."

"Not so much in Ferelden," Hawke put in. "You live through a Blight, suddenly your opinion on Wardens takes very much a turn for the respectable. Also it's more difficult to see them as criminals when the king and queen themselves are wardens." He grinned at Anders and Carver. "And most of the ones I know personally are good people, even the one I'm related to. Just one more reason why we need to stop what Corypheus is doing before he destroys the Wardens entirely."

"No argument here," Carver said more grimly. "Do any of those papers refer to the wardens at all? If so I should go through them before we leave."

"I didn't see anything about Wardens, although–" he shuffled through the papers again until he came to the one he was looking for "–there are some reports about darkspawn being spotted in the area." He handed the papers over to Carver.

Carver looked through them quickly, obviously scanning for keywords. "Hmm, there must be an opening to the Deep Roads nearby. Maybe we'll find it during this field trip of yours and get it closed."

"Ah, darkspawn. The perfect addition to our trip through the desert." Anders snorted. "I knew it was missing something. You really know how to treat a man, love."

"That's me, I'm a giver," Hawke quipped. He snaked out an arm to pull Anders close to his side. To Carver, he asked, "What do you think? Is it serious enough that we should make finding where the darkspawn are coming from our main objective and leave searching the ruins for after?"

Carver scratched his head. "You know I'm going to have to say yes."

"Darkspawn hunting it is then!" Hawke declared.

***

Hours later, they were standing in the middle of the desert, coughing their lungs out. "Maker," Hawke gasped. "That's got to be the most vile thing I've ever smelled and I was sharing a room with Carver after the unfortunate incident with the bean stew!"

" _I_ was the unfortunate one there," Carver insisted between hacking coughs. "But there's no way we're getting to whatever lurks through these fumes. Not today, with the wind blowing them straight into our faces."

"We shouldn't have even tried," Anders said with bad temper, his eyes red and weeping. "I told you it was poisonous."

"Wardens have a duty," Carver spat at him. "Not that I could ever expect _you_ to understand that."

"Carver!" Hawke snapped. There was always going to be a certain amount of sniping within this group, but that was getting pretty close to stepping over the line. "There are duties other than fighting darkspawn. Don't get tunnel vision – that's part of what's got the rest of the Wardens into their current predicament."

Carver turned a furious glare on Hawke, but over a few seconds the glare softened, and then he looked away with a sigh. "You're right, brother, much though I hate to say it." He turned to face Anders. "Sorry. What I said was uncalled for, especially considering how many times I owe you for my life and my brother's."

Anders managed a ragged smile in return, dapping his eyes with this sleeves, which was probably only making them worse. "Let's get further away," he rasped.

That was a suggestion that no one seemed to have an argument with, and the entire group of them made their way upwind from the fumes, coughing all the way. They only stopped when the stench no longer seemed to be taking residence in Hawke's nose. "Everyone still with us?" he asked when he was finally able to get a full breath again.

"Stand still all, while I do the rounds repairing damage," Anders said, starting with Hawke, who felt a light touch of Anders' magic followed by relief in his throat and lungs.

"Don't leave yourself til last," Fenris said. "We can wait."

Anders looked up from where he was now treating Varric, giving Fenris a gratified look. "I'm fine, but... thank you."

Hawke looked between the two of them, feeling a smile curve his mouth although he tried to keep from full on beaming at them. It was just that after so many years of listening to the two of them bicker, it was so refreshing to listen to them get along.

He caught Carver glancing between the two, obviously surprised at the consideration they were showing each other.

"It seems to me," Varric said, "that darkspawn hunting duty has gone as far as it can for now. Shall we head southeast to the ruins?

Dorian perked up at that. "Yes," he agreed enthusiastically. "If the Venatori were interested in it, the odds are that there's far more there than just valuable trinkets. There could be something far more dangerous than mere darkspawn."

"Mere?" Felix challenged with a smile. "You do remember Corypheus is a darkspawn, yes?"

"Yes, but I strongly suspect it's the ancient magister part that makes him dangerous. The darkspawn part just makes him ugly," Dorian said with an airy wave.

"He is powerfully ugly," Hawke agreed. "I've seen him up close. Really close. Has really bad breath too."

"No one's bad breath, no matter how blighted, can beat that of a dwarf I knew called Oghren," Anders said, his smile dropping as he spoke. "I hope he's alright. I hope they all are."

There wasn't much Hawke could say to that to make it better. They all knew the risks any warden out there was facing at the moment. The best he could offer at that moment was an understanding look, a squeeze of his hand and a change of subject. "Come on," he said, in a more gentle tone. "Let's go see what kind of trouble can be found in Tevinter ruins."


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _... in which there is time to waste._

By the time they reached what had to be the entrance to the ruins they were after, it was late in the day, and Anders was dry, dusty and needing a rest. Fortunately, a small grove of trees outside the gates, once cleared of venatori vermin, seemed the perfect place to do said resting. It even had fresh water in two small pools. Not that they planned to set up camp here, not properly, but a rest and recharge before they entered the ruins seemed a popular decision.

In his heart of hearts, Anders would have been just as happy turning around and going back the way they'd come. Something around here was giving him goose pimples, making him feel... prickly.

"This place is infested with deathroot," he warned after a quick look around, but that wasn't what was bothering him. "Don't lean on the trees and don't put your fingers in your mouths."

"Charming," Dorian said, wrinkling his nose a little. "And we wanted to come here again why?"

"Ancient Tevinter ruins with possible ancient Tevinter magic," Hawke reminded him.

Dorian actually brightened at that. "Quite right. Well, it better be some _amazing_ ancient magic to make up for the Maker-forsaken climate is all I'm saying."

Fenris grunted, and looking over at him, Anders saw the elf's lyrium brands flickering. The way Fenris was scowling at his arm suggested it wasn't something he'd planned to happen. Anders grimaced, staring at the foreboding doors at the other side of the narrow courtyard they'd cleared.

"This place is afflicted with magic somehow," he said quietly. "Are we sure we want to disturb it?"

"What's the worst that could happen?" Hawke asked in typical Hawke fashion. A beat later he added, "Nobody answer that."

"Better us than the Venatori, surely," Dorian said, glancing over at Fenris. Anders saw him frown a little as he eyed Fenris' brands.

"That really depends on what happens to people who venture inside," Anders said. "Think about it. Tevinter relics aren't likely to be either passive or forgiving." He looked at Hawke and sighed internally. "But we're going inside anyway, aren't we? Of course we are." He laughed.

"Maybe we should have kept some of this lot we just killed alive," Varric said, kicking a corpse further away from the fire the venatori guards had built. "We could have thrown them in ahead of us."

"There are probably more inside," Felix said thoughtfully.

"There you go," Hawke said to Varric. "We find them and just keep one of them alive to throw in ahead of us if things look dicey."

Carver snorted and rolled his eyes. "Ever consider hauling a templar around with you on your adventures, now that you're all nicey nice with each other? Seems to me one could come in handy against all this magic."

"We have better than a templar," Varric told him. "We have a seeker."

"Who is where?" Carver said, raising an eyebrow.

"Point taken."

"If there are venatori already inside, we should probably get a move on," Dorian said. "Given enough time, even a complete idiot might stumble across something important. Or something that could blow up in all of our faces. We probably want to prevent that, yes?"

"Yes," Hawke agreed. "Come on. We can argue about how stupid this is as we're actually doing it."

Varric sighed, straightening and lifting Bianca as he did so. "No rest, yadda yadda."

Everyone gathered together around Hawke, and Fenris moved to the front. A short march through the courtyard took them to the doors. Lifting his sword, Fenris strode up to them and kicked them open. Anders wondered what was wrong with opening them quietly, but he thought saying as much might go against their new peace accord.

Inside was a high-ceilinged entrance foyer paved with terracotta tiles. Beyond that was a huge space, multi-levelled and full of confusion and strangeness, but before Anders could do more than briefly glance around, they had to kill the venatori swarming like insects towards them.

A brief and violent fight saw all the venatori in the room quickly coming down with a bad case of dead. Dorian kicked the body of one of his fallen countrymen viciously. "Serves you right for playing with things you don't understand," he said to it.

Hawke, meanwhile, had moved off a little and was staring up at a rift in mid air that seemed to be... frozen. The same could be said of the demons surrounding it, and the men dressed in Tevinteresque outfits facing off against them. "I think we found the source of the strangeness," he observed.

"I don't know about that," Anders said, moving close to him and examining the... tableau. "The rift looks just as afflicted by this strangeness as everything else." He looked around for Dorian, and having caught his attention, asked, "Is this time magic?"

Dorian frowned, looking around them. "At attempt at time magic maybe," he said. "That went very, very wrong. Have I mentioned lately that my country is full of idiots? 'Let's play with things we don't understand. It will make us incredibly powerful,'" he mocked, then made a disgusted noise worthy of Cassandra.

"Whatever it is, it seems to only affect things that were here when it... went off?" Anders winced at his choice of words. "But that must have been since the Breach was opened, seeing as this rift has been caught up in the effect. So Venatori idiocy rather than ancient Tevinter stupidity?"

"Not necessarily," Dorian said. "Small rifts like this could happen even before the Breach, with enough magic of the wrong kind somewhere the Veil was thin."

Anders considered that and nodded. "I suppose you're right. When we were in the Blackmarsh, well over a decade ago now, we saw small tears. Nothing like the post-Breach rifts though." He smiled at the memory. "That's where Justice and I first met."

He approached a frozen Tevinter, "Are these ancient fashions? If so, you must be right, but considering the amount of demons we met with in Kirkwall, it seems strange we never saw a rift like this until after Breach was opened."

"Does it matter?" Fenris asked, but not belligerently.

"Only to mages," Carver said dourly, poking at a frozen demon with his sword. "To practical men only what's to be done about all this matters."

"He's probably right in that, practically, it doesn't matter," Dorian agreed. "In theory, however, the whole thing is rather fascinating."

"You can write a paper on it when all of this is over," Hawke suggested. "Ripping holes in time and space for fun and profit, and why it's a bad idea."

"I wonder, if we stop the stasis somehow, will they wake up?" Felix said, full of obvious curiosity. "This style of clothing predates the whole Andraste business by some time, Anders. It could be fascinating to hear what they have to say."

"More likely, they would all just turn to dust," Dorian said. "Time is self-correcting when it's not being manipulated. When the spell breaks, however long time has been held at bay, it will all rush in at once. That's why your father and I didn't pursue time stasis after our initial tests. It wouldn't have helped."

Felix shuddered visibly. "I would have been like them. Frozen forever."

Dorian reached out and laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I wouldn't have let that happen," he said, voice full of conviction.

"Instead, Father opted to turn me slowly into a ghoul." Felix shared a rueful look with Dorian.

Wisely keeping his mouth shut, Anders couldn't help wonder if the pair realised how lucky they were. At least their fathers cared about them, however messed up the way they showed it. Anders' father had given him over to the templars and never made any effort to try to see him afterwards.

Dorian's mouth quirked up into a smirk. "I didn't let that happen either, did I? Granted, I had considerable help..."

"Always happy to be of assistance," Hawke said, giving a mock bow with flourish before becoming all business again. "Let me see if I got this right. We find the source of the spell holding everything in stasis and break it, then all the ancient Tevinters go poof?"

Dorian nodded. "That would be my best educated guess, yes." He paused. "The demons will probably be... unpoofable though. They don't age like people do. And I have no idea what if anything it will do to that rift."

"Before we go breaking any spells, we should probably look around," Varric said. "We don't want to discover when it's too late that someone set this stasis in place in order to keep something or someone from doing something terrible."

"Figure out where all the terrible somethings are before we unleash them," Hawke said with a nod. "Sounds like a sound plan to me."

They made their way slowly through the building, finding ancient notes on magical research, many involving blood magic, _of course_ , and just as ancient caches of weaponry and other materials.

When they reached an inner courtyard, Hawke held up a hand for everyone to pause, hearing voices.

"That's modern Tevene," Dorian murmured low. "Looks like we still have a few more venatori idiots to deal with."

"Not a problem," Fenris said, shifting into a battle stance. "I could do this all night."

Dorian smirked suggestively. "I've heard that somewhere before."

"Fight now," Hawke said, pulling out his staff. "Flirt later."

The fight barely lived up to the name. The venatori were distracted, taken by surprise and incredibly outclassed. They were all down within minutes.

Dorian immediately began searching the bodies. "Just before we reached them, I heard them talking about a keystone. It sounded important."

Varric joined him in the search, emptying pockets and pouches onto the ground. "What might this keystone look like?"

"It can look like anything, but it will be some kind of stone and reeking of magic," Dorian said, still searching. "Possibly glowing."

"Like this?" Hawke asked, holding up a tablet of stone slightly larger than his hand, with glowing symbols etched into its surface.

"Exactly like that," Dorian agreed, reaching out a hand for it, and examining it closely when Hawke handed it over.

Felix went over to look at it with him. "Interesting, but not, I think complete?"

"No," Dorian agreed. "The other pieces should be nearby though. If they were too far away, it wouldn't be glowing." He looked up. "I think this is part of the protections on the spell on this place. We'll need to find them all to break it."

"You heard the man," Hawke said. "Let's find us some glowing rock tablet thingys."

So they all started looking. Anders was a little proud to find one part frozen in the air near some perpetually tumbling ancient mage. Touching the stone freed it – unlike the demons and humans, fortunately. In the end, they had them all.

"There's a door up those stairs," Carver said, gesturing, "that practically screams 'I need a series of mystical rune stones to open me'."

"It does, doesn't it? Let's take a closer look, shall we?" Dorian said before making his way up the stairs and kneeling to examine the door and the mystical lock embedded in it. "Elegant little piece of magical engineering," he murmured, then sighed. "If you ignore the inevitable and needless blood magic that was no doubt used in its construction." He stood up and held out a hand for the keystone pieces. "I suppose we should just be grateful that blood magic isn't needed to operate the lock."

Anders readied his staff again as Dorian fitted the pieces in the lock, but it turned out to be unnecessary. With a glow of runes, the door opened to reveal a room holding a plinth, and on the plinth some kind of bulky mounting in which a staff stood upright, an unpleasant looking ball of red magical energy between its prongs. This was, without question, the source of the bad feeling he had about this place.

"Can't say I think much of the decor," Hawke remarked, looking at the red drops frozen in midair with disgust.

"Nor I," Dorian agreed, dodging through them to get a closer look at the staff. "This does seem to be the lynchpin in the spell though," he said after a moment's study. "Remove it and either the spell will break, and time will start moving again, or it'll explode like a Qunari dreadnought and take us and the whole place with it."

"I vote we don't take those odds," Varric said, taking a few steps backwards.

"Exploding is the less likely option," Dorian said. "But since it is a possibility, I thought I should mention it."

"How less likely?" Hawke asked.

"Perhaps... ten to one? It's difficult to say for sure, since I don't know for certain all that went into the spell, and even if I did, it's obvious that something went wrong. But I _think_ I can remove it safely."

"As safely as anything that will release large numbers of demons from stasis could be said to be." Anders sighed. "Still, if we don't clear this place out, it'll only be a matter of time before more venatori arrive."

Hawke sighed, grimaced and said, "Do it. I'll apologise in the afterlife if we all blow up."

Dorian reached out a hand and gripped the staff, twisting it first one way, then the other before it finally slid loose. The second it slid free of the mounting a force of energy emanated outward from it, knocking Anders – and everyone else – forcefully backwards and to the floor.

"Ouch," Anders said pointedly, rubbing at his elbow. That was all he had the chance to say, however, before Felix spoke from behind him.

"Here come the demons."

Fenris lyrium-ghosted right through them both to get to said demons.

"Try to leave some for the rest of us," Hawke teased him as they readied to make their way back to the rift.

"I do believe there's plenty to go around," Dorian observed, catching sight of a large group gathering in the courtyard beyond the door. He'd held onto the staff that had been powering the spell and seemed to be preparing to fight with it.

"Dorian, do you really think you should–" Anders managed to say before Dorian blasted a demon with the staff. It seemed pretty effective. Anders snorted, turned away, and began to use his own staff in a similar fashion.

There _were_ an awful lot of demons to get through, but the group they had was more than up to the task. They'd had a lot of practice fighting demons lately, after all.

They fought their way back into the main building with relative ease, but the closer they got to the rift, the more numerous and difficult their demon adversaries became. Nothing that Anders was seriously concerned they wouldn't be able to handle, but it was going to be a long hard slog of a fight.

At least until Dorian yelled out, "I'm going to try something! Brace yourselves!" and began casting... Anders wasn't exactly sure what, but it was a spell he'd never seen before.

Golden light sprang for Dorian's hands, leaving long streaks in the air behind it like ribbons. The light ribbons reached out and wrapped around each of them and Anders felt the touch of magic, almost but not quite like a rejuvenation spell...

And the world slowed down to quarter speed around them.

They could argue about the advisability of unpractised time magic here of all places later. For now, Anders was going to make the most of being able to cast four times as fast as the enemy.

It seemed everyone else had the same thought, and the demons were finished off, and the rift closed, in what must have seemed like just a few seconds to anyone outside the limits of Dorian's spell.

As Anders began his usual post fight priority of checking everyone for wounds they weren't owning up to and healing them, he heard Fenris asking, "What did you do, amatus?"

"Something I've been working on for some time," Dorian replied, sounding pleased with himself if slightly winded as he leaned on the staff he'd taken from the spell mounting. "Unravelling that stasis spell, I finally was able to figure out the last little bit that had been eluding me."

"It felt like the spell you cast when we were rushing to Denerim," Fenris said.

"Did you speed us up or slow down everything else?" Varric asked.

"Sped us up, of course," Dorian said, answering Varric first. "I'm good, but even I can't slow down the entire world. To Fenris he said, "It's related to what I did on the way to Denerim. But it's quite a bit more complicated attempting that during combat. Much more to keep track of. Whenever I considered it before, it always seemed like it would take far more mana than even I possess, but I was able to figure out how to... shift my perspective and make it doable."

"You figured all that out on the fly in the middle of a fight?" Hawke asked, eyebrows raised.

"Well, not _all_ of it," Dorian said. "Like Fenris mentioned, I did have the basics of the spell already worked out. But how to make it work in combat... I suppose I did." He gave a little smile. "I guess I'm just that good."

Anders laughed at that, but then remembered something. "Sometimes it happens like that. I learnt something recently too, thanks to a series of urgent happenings."

"That you could reattach limbs? I've promised a certain grumpy elf that I would do my utmost to not provide any more urgent circumstances for you to practice with," Dorian teased.

"No, not that," Anders said with a smile. "That was just what I do already but amplified. This is something very new to me, and the closest thing I've seen to it before is how Cole zooms around a battlefield, barely visible, or perhaps one of your battle charges, Fenris, while you're all ghosted up. It's nowhere near as remarkable as what you just did, however, Dorian."

"You mean your fade stepping?" Dorian asked. "I've seen you do it, I just hadn't realised you weren't actually trained in it. That's remarkable in its own right. The learning curve on how to do it properly is usually rather steep."

"Is that what it's called?" Anders felt bemused. "I didn't know it was a thing. Really comes in useful when I need to save Hawke from himself." He chuckled.

"You make me sound like I spend all my time running obliviously towards the edge of a cliff," Hawke objected.

"I'm sorry," Anders told him with a cheeky grin. "I definitely didn't mean to imply that you were oblivious about it."

Hawke frowned and opened his mouth, but paused and closed it again with a shrug. "That's fair."

Varric chuckled. "You're nothing if not self-aware, my friend."

"Self-aware is all very well," Carver said from over where he was investigating their haul of armour from the fights. "But it won't help those who he leads over that damn cliff he's running at."

Hawke turned his frown on his brother. "If I run at cliffs, it's only to keep others from falling off them." He paused. "This metaphor might be getting away from us."

"Blondie better stop it before it falls off something," Varric said with a chuckle. "So after all this, did we find any priceless Tevinter artefacts?"

"Well, I did," Dorian said, looking down at the staff he was still holding on to.

"You keeping it?" Hawke asked, with a raised eyebrow.

"I realise it looks more than a little garish, and I never thought I'd willingly use a staff with a skull headpiece, but..." Dorian paused and looked at the thing almost fondly, "it _feels_ right. More than any other staff I've ever held."

"Then it should be yours," Fenris said staunchly. "No one here would argue about the rightness of weapons."

"Too right," Varric agreed, caressing Bianca possessively.

Hawke glanced a wry glance over his shoulder where the Key was once again slung. "Finding a weapon made just for you seems to be the norm with this crowd," he observed sardonically. "Welcome to the club."

***

Cullen's army was taking too long to reach them. It had started to weigh on everyone; Varric could see it, but it was especially hard on the Hawke brothers, who both seemed to feel the burden of correcting the Wardens' folly most heavily.

They needed something to take their mind off things, at least for this evening, so Varric had taken it on himself to bully, cajole or plain bribe enough folk to sit down around a table together for an evening of card games.

He'd even found a large barrel of ale in Griffin Wing's cellars for the occasion. In fact, he'd found two, but he'd had to pay the soldiers who'd hauled them upstairs _something_.

While shuffling the cards, he studied the faces of those at the table. Most seemed at least willing to try to enjoy themselves. The main exception was Carver, but then, he had always started off a game looking disapproving, so maybe he'd warm up with time, good company and ale.

"Ready or not, here come the cards," Varric said, sending them spinning across the table with precision. "Dealer's choice: blind ante, dragons trump, mabari wild."

"Speaking of dragons," Hawke said as he picked up his hand. "Does anyone else think we should do something about that high dragon that's been seen near here?"

"Something other than give her a wide berth?" Dorian asked with a raised eyebrow. "You really are bored, aren't you?"

"Maybe save it until the world isn't about to end, love," Anders said with a grin. "For when you get bored."

"We need to find you a hobby," Dorian declared. "To help relieve these bouts of boredom. Something that involves less cheating certain death. Knitting perhaps?"

Carver snorted. "Knowing my brother, he'd just invent a spell to do the knitting for him."

"I'd rather hunt a high dragon or two," Hawke said, looking at his cards and sounding a little sulky.

"Of course you would." Dorian turned his head to address Varric. "I must commend you on being able to write that book about Hawke and yet completely obscure the fact that he is stark raving mad."

"You ask me," Varric said while playing a card, "all big heroes are. Rational people run away when trouble strikes."

"Cowards, you mean," Fenris said with a sneer curving his lips.

"If you like. I prefer 'realists'." Varric winked at the elf. "I was one once. You know, before meeting you lot."

Hawke chuckled. "Keep telling yourself that, Varric. I seem to recall you being the one who led us to most of our early adventures in Kirkwall together. You were the crazy dwarf organising the risky expedition. We just signed on."

Dorian, meanwhile, blinked at Fenris for a moment. "Sweet Maker, don't tell me you want to go hunt high dragons too!"

Fenris shrugged. "Challenge can be... diverting. The one we slew outside Kirkwall had killed a lot of men. It was satisfying to remove the threat."

"I," Dorian said, staring down at his cards, "am in love with a crazy elf. How did I miss the crazy part?"

"For the same reason you don't notice an accent when it's the same as yours," Felix said, smiling down at his own cards.

"He's right," Hawke said. "We've all seen you in battle. You're the same flavour of crazy as the rest of us."

Dorian heaved a dramatic sigh. "It's like a disease," he said mournfully. "You hang around with this group long enough and you get infected with it." He glanced at Felix. "Though if I ever become so far gone as to suggest dragon hunting to relieve boredom, I expect you as my oldest friend to take appropriate measures."

"Clap you on the back and cheer you on?" Felix checked.

Fenris chuckled.

"Of course not," Dorian said, drawing himself up to his full height while seated. "If you're close enough to clap me on the back, I fully expect you to join in. If I'm going to succumb to that level of insanity, I fully intend on taking you with me."

"Friends don't let friends fight dragons alone," Varric said, pulling in his winnings and passing the deal to Cole. "Now Kid, do it like we talked about. Deal us all one card at a time and don't _look_ at what they are."

Cole took the deck from Varric and closed his eyes as he started dealing, apparently taking the 'don't look' order seriously. However, his actual dealing was smooth and fast, clever fingers flipping one card after another to land in front of each person in turn so Varric considered it a win. At least the Kid wasn't having conversations with the face cards any more.

"You have to say the rules for the deal," Varric told him. "You can just repeat mine if you like."

"Don't do that," Anders said immediately. "Varric's rules were terrible."

Cole frowned opening his eyes to look down at the deck in his hands. "Dragons are wild," he said finally. "Mabari are not. Unless you cross them."

Hawke smirked. "Well, he's not wrong. If we do get a dragon hunt going, would you like to come along, Cole?"

"Maybe?" Cole answered. "She is... very big."

"All the easier to hide behind," Varric told him, grinning.

"This is very irresponsible of you, brother." Carver, of course, was always ready with a downer.

Hawke grinned. "You haven't really had a chance to see Cole in action. Or.. not see, he's very good at not being seen until he wants to be."

"The shadows are friendly to spirits," Cole explained as if that was all that needed to be said. "As long as I remember what it was like to be the Fade, they will hide me when I ask."

Carver looked at him for a few moments then shook his head. "That's not what I meant," he said, turning back to Hawke. "Are you honestly considering a dragon hunt, now of all times?"

"It's there, and we have time to kill," Hawke said. "Might as well make the place safer for our people while we wait."

"Using up resources and risking health before the fight that actually matters? I know the Wardens don't matter to you the way they–"

"The Wardens matter to Hawke," Anders said icily. "Don't you dare suggest otherwise."

"Heroes helping, holding, driving the dark back, sacrificing to save what they can and stop the unstoppable," Cole said. "Saved my homeland, saved my brother. I won't let something that is my responsibility be their downfall. I will save them, even if I have to save them from themselves." He turned his too knowing eyes on Carver. "He cares about them. He'd save them just for you, but it's more than that too."

Carver stared at Cole. "Right. Forget I spoke."

Varric resisted the urge to beam at Cole for defusing the situation. He was sure the kid knew he was happy with him anyway. "Your go, Sparkler. Unless you're folding?"

Dorian looked at his cards and then sighed and tossed a coin into the pot. "I must be crazy, but no, I am continuing."

Someone had a better hand than they were trying to suggest. Varric smirked to himself and folded when his turn came. No point in risking more on his own indifferent cards. Sure enough, two minutes later, Dorian won the small stack of coins, and the deal moved around again.

"This ale is surprisingly good," Fenris said in passing. "For ale."

"That is a rather low bar to clear, however," Dorian said, looking down at his own mug, frowning at it in distaste before shrugging and tossing the contents back.

Hawke chuckled. "You're certainly putting enough of it away," he pointed out.

"I am merely attempting to conform to your barbaric southern customs," Dorian shot back, exaggerating his noble manners until they'd reached the point of parody.

"No need to drink our good ale just for the sake of politeness, Sparkler. We'll all be happy to have your share." Varric raised his mug in a toast to Dorian.

Dorian curled around his mug protectively. "Try it, dwarf, and you'll find your breeches on fire."

Now everyone laughed. Well, apart from Carver, but Varric thought he'd seen those hard line lips twitch.

"So, Felix," Hawke said, when the laughter died down again, "you've known Dorian a long time. Any embarrassing stories you'd like to share with us?"

"Really?" Dorian asked.

"Just taking advantage of the resources when they're available," Hawke replied with a grin.

"There are many," Felix said with a sly smile as he folded and lay down his cards. "Those I can share, however, number few."

"Even with bribery?" Anders asked brightly, throwing coins into the pile. "I'm still in.".

Felix laughed. "Just what kind of bribery are you offering? It doesn't matter, anyway. Some things are not destined to be revealed by me."

"I don't know whether to thank you or worry about what stories you think are suitable to share," Dorian told him.

Felix smiled. "Well, there was that time at the Perivantium Circle that ended up with your expulsion. That could make a good story, if only to illustrate why people should take your threats seriously."

Dorian tilted his head, visibly considering. "That would be acceptable," he finally agreed.

"You got expelled from a Circle?" Hawke asked, eyebrows raised in surprise. "That's something that actually happens?"

"When you manage to anger the wrong people badly enough, yes," Dorian said wryly. "I managed that feat several times in all."

"Not down here, it doesn't," Anders said, frowning, but then corrected his tense more happily. " _Didn't_. All that would've achieved is being dragged away to an appointment with some big brute of a templar with the tranquil branding iron."

"So what did you do?" Fenris asked Dorian, sounding perplexed that anything could be considered bad enough to deserve expulsion from a _Tevinter_ institution.

"He did what he just threatened to do to Varric," Felix said, raising his mug in a toast Varric's way. "Set people's breeches on fire."

"People who completely deserved it, I might add," Dorian said, sipping at his ale like it was one of those fine Tevinter vintage wines he was always on about.

"You can't leave it at that," Hawke protested. "You're going to have to tell the whole story."

"Very well, if you insist," Dorian said with a sigh that was so very obviously fake. "I was rather precocious when I was young. I came into my magic early, far earlier than most, and my control and abilities likewise continued at an accelerated pace. I was put into classes with older students almost from the moment I arrived at Perivantium, reports both good and bad having followed me there. And not only did I keep up with them in our studies, I regularly surpassed them. This, I'm sure you can well imagine, did not really endear me to my classmates. And while I was their superior with magic even at my tender age, they were quite a bit larger than me and not afraid to use their size to try and intimidate me."

"Not just their size," Felix said with a wry frown. "They had a very hands-on approach from what I hear."

Varric was immediately aware of a change in Fenris' posture, hearing this. "Did you hurt them?" the elf asked Dorian – well, demanded really. "Kill them?"

"Worse," Dorian replied airily. "I shamed them. Their attacks always happened in private. My reprisal did not. After one encounter, during which my brand new robes had been ripped, I decided I'd had enough, and instead of going back to the dormitory to lick my wounds, I followed them down to the dining area. I was, to put it mildly, incandescent with rage. I climbed on a table, called them out in front of everyone, and demanded satisfaction. When they tried to play it off as a joke to which I was overreacting, I set their robes on fire."

"Ha!" Varric laughed loudly. "Nice, Sparkler. I imagine they did a lot of running around screaming before someone put them out."

"And healed them," Anders put in, but he was grinning too. "I wish I'd felt able to do that to certain templars."

"You've done it to plenty of templars since," Carver pointed out rather acidly, but everyone ignored him.

"I would have killed them," Fenris said. "Your method was probably better, in the long run."

"Longer lasting, at least. I might have been expelled, but they were forever after known for being bested by the ten year old scion of House Pavus," Dorian said with a satisfied smile. "I probably wouldn't have even been expelled if I'd carried out my revenge in private, but because I'd done so in front of almost the entire population of the Circle, I didn't leave them much choice. I was confined to my room until they could send for my father. It wasn't so bad though. The templars standing guard were willing to bring me any books I asked for and to play some games with me to help pass the time. And my father never chastised me for what I did, merely for my lack of discretion." He grimaced slightly. "Discretion never seemed to be a lesson that I mastered."

"It's just a form of self-apology," Fenris said dismissively. "You don't need it."

Hawke chuckled. "Fenris has never really grasped the concept of discretion," he said, casting the elf a fond look. "First night I met him, we helped him raid a mansion that Danarius owned. He told us there could be anything inside, and that we had to be discreet and quiet... and then proceeded to go from room to room, and battle to battle, screaming at the top of his lungs for Danarius to come face him."

"I did not–" Fenris started and then stopped. "I suppose I did."

"If you ever wondered why you never seemed to get invited to the jobs that required ambushes, you can put it down to vivid first impressions," Hawke told him with a grin.

"I don't have the patience for them anyway," Fenris said with a shrug.

_Or diplomacy_ , Varric thought, but he didn't say it out loud, not wanting to push things with the elf. Unfortunately, Anders then said it for him.

"Or for talk first, kill only if necessary on many occasions I remember." Anders grinned at Fenris. "But your remarkable ability to be rapidly in between myself and the things that wanted to hurt me more than makes up for it."

Fenris gave him a slanted smile in return. "You're welcome." Perhaps not as unfortunate as all that then.

"You are very good at being the violent centre of attention," Dorian observed. "And I so adore watching you while you are."

The smile Fenris turned on Dorian then was more of a predatory smirk, and Varric found himself looking away in a hurry. Some things he didn't need to witness. "Cards, everyone. Where are we at?"

"You are all about to lose all your money," Hawke said, tossing another coin into the pot.

"I sincerely doubt it," Varric replied, smiling at his cards.

"He's bluffing," Anders said confidently, then adding with less certainty, "or maybe double bluffing."

"What exactly do you think constitutes a double bluff anyway?" Dorian asked curiously as he threw another coin of his own into the pot.

"He's pretending that he's pretending he has a good hand when he really has a bad hand except for of course he really does have a good one," Anders said, making Varric splutter with laughter.

"What makes you think that I'm so limited in my bluffing skills?" he asked. "You're talking to a dwarf who has mastered the triple reverse feign within the sideways misdirection manoeuvre."

"I'm sure that involves using the chest hair as a distraction in some fashion," Hawke said cheerfully. "Though even that is better than the way Isabela used to take advantage of her cleavage."

"This is the same Isabela that the stripping rules are named after?" Dorian raised his eyebrows. "I'm not sure I want to know."

"She used to simultaneously blatantly use her cleavage as a distraction _and_ hide cards in it," Hawke explained. "There was one memorable game where, by the time we finished, she had enough cards in there to make up three winning hands."

"It is... substantial and hard to ignore," Fenris agreed. "I could never understand how it didn't get in the way, but she was, in fact, surprisingly nimble. A human thing, perhaps."

"More an Isabela thing, I think," Hawke said thoughtfully, then grinned at Fenris. "She'd be happy that she had made such an impression on you that you actually thought about it though, Fenris."

"I would have to have been blind not to notice," Fenris protested. "Either the bosom or her skills."

"Fair point," Hawke conceded.

"She was fun to have around," Anders said. "I wonder what she's up to now."

"Probably sailing rings around every other ship in the water," Hawke said fondly. "And alternating between bedding the other captains, besting them at cards, and challenging them to a duel. Possibly all in one night."

"I think after our trip to Tevinter, she was looking forward to getting back to an easy life of smuggling and storm-wrestling," Varric said, raising his stake by two.

"Best she stay away then," Hawke said, a bit more seriously than he had been. "Nothing about this is easy."

It was Dorian who broke the silence that fell after Hawke's comment. "What I want," he said, "are more embarrassing stories. I told mine, I demand to hear some of yours."

"Our stories tend to be more dismal than embarrassing," Fenris said, ever so slightly glumly. "Kirkwall wasn't the place for... hijinks."

"Kirkwall, maybe not," Carver said, "but I could tell you some of my brother from our time growing up in Lothering."

"Embarrassing stories about our fearless leader? Yes, please," Dorian said.

"Go ahead," Hawke said, giving Carver a 'be my guest' gesture. "Just remember I have just as many stories about you growing up."

Carver pulled a face. "Well, that blocks the one I was going to tell. Hmm, let's think. How about the time when you ruined Mother's birthday?" He turned to look around his audience. "I was almost five; he was nine. Our mother had been having a hard time for a while, and we wanted to cheer her up for her birthday. Bethany and I worked our little arses off for pocket money so we could buy this pretty gravy boat that we knew she'd admired, but that wasn't good enough for Hawke. Oh no, he wanted something much grander."

"Not grander as something from the heart," Hawke corrected. "She used to tell these stories about the fire and light show Father had put on to entertain the nobles at the celebration they met at. I wanted to recreate that for her." He shrugged. "For both of them really."

"And it was just coincidence that you were able to laze around doing nothing and looking superior while we both worked so hard?" Carver shook his head. "My brother may deny it now, but this was an idea born of youthful arrogance. He knew he was some kind of magical genius, but made the mistake of thinking that meant he didn't have to practice. Come the day, Mother was very kind about her gravy boat after we'd put her mind at rest about where we'd got the money. Then came Garrett's big moment. Oh yes, there was fire and light aplenty; he didn't get that part wrong. But there was also the most Maker-damned awful stench you have ever smelled. And it lasted for days! Got into everything."

Anders laughed. Then put a hand over his mouth, muttering "sorry, love" to Hawke, but Varric could tell Anders was still grinning behind his hand.

"It really was a horrible stink," Hawke admitted wryly. "I was mortified as only a nine year old could be. The only reason I didn't lock myself in my room and refuse to come out is that the smell would've probably suffocated me. So instead I ran outside and climbed a tree and refused to come down."

"Aww." Anders patted Hawke's hand. "You needed a cat. A cat would have made everything better."

"How?" Fenris asked, looking bewildered.

"I will never forget Mother's face," Carver said, ignoring the pair. "Trying so hard to look proud and appreciative with tears running down her cheeks and barely able to breathe."

"While you were in the background making retching noises," Hawke pointed out. "You sounded like a cat coughing up a hairball."

"I felt like a mabari coughing up a darkspawn! Maker, that reek. I still smell in my dreams."

"Oh come on now," Hawke objected. "It was bad, yes, but it wasn't worse than a darkspawn."

"It was worse," his brother claimed.

"My brother is prone to exaggeration," Hawke said to the rest of the table.

Carver laughed. "On the contrary. I'm the pedantic realist of the pair of us. You know it's true."

"I believe the phrase you're looking for is 'stick in the mud'," Hawke shot back.

Varric smiled to himself as he gathered in his winnings, hardly noticed by the rest of them. This evening was serving its purpose, taking everyone's minds off things they currently could do nothing about. At the same time, it was making him just a little bit richer, like all the best game nights did.

Cullen's army would reach them by tomorrow afternoon if the raven messages were to be believed. Varric strongly suspected that the poor bastards would barely be allowed a rest before being aimed at the walls of Adamant Fortress. At least he'd ensured that the key players here would be as relaxed and prepared as they could possibly be.

***

As much as he knew he should, Hawke couldn't sleep, and he gave up after a couple of hours of trying. He crept stealthily out of the tent he shared with Anders and walked through the camp, nodding at various soldiers as he passed. He stopped just beyond the perimeter and took a deep breath. This close to the Abyssal Rift, the air held the harsh tang of sulphur and other, less savory things. It all served as yet another reminder of what they were about to do.

Hawke stared at the walls of Adamant Fortress, darker shadows against the night sky. Given how big the force they'd put together was they had made good time in their mad dash across the desert and now, finally, tomorrow they would attack.

"Can't sleep?" asked a voice behind him – Cullen. "I'm not sure any commander worth his crest could before a battle of this scale."

"These are a few more lives than I am used to leading into a fight," Hawke said wryly. "Actually, I think this is the first time I've been the attacker. Every other really big fight I've been in, the other guy started first."

"The Venatori-controlled wardens have given us reason enough. I only wish we knew what we're going to find in there once we've broken through the defences." Cullen grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. " _If_ we break through the defences."

"I have every confidence that we will," Hawke told him, thinking back to the afternoon spent in briefings and the sheer amount of detail and effort that Cullen had put into forming their assault. "Your plan is more than sound. I daresay you have a talent for this sort of thing, Commander."

"I wouldn't be much use to you if I hadn't." He grimaced again, and this time pushed two fingers against his temple as if in pain. "The men are ready, unarguably. In an ordinary siege I'd have no doubts." He shrugged. "But who knows what the Venatori have rigged up?"

"Headache?" Hawke asked, keeping the tone of his voice only mildly concerned. A few months ago, Cullen had told him of his efforts to break his templar induced lyrium addiction, and Hawke knew that headaches had to be the least of what the other man suffered. He knew though that it was a touchy subject and always approached it with care.

"Nothing I can't handle. I cannot... I _won't_ let it distract me." Cullen offered him a tight smile. "I won't be invalided out of the first big battle we've had since Haven."

"I honestly don't think we could pull this off without you, Cullen," Hawke told him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "And I don't doubt your focus. Never think that I do. What you're doing takes a lot of guts, and I respect that."

That surprised a warmer, clearly appreciative smile from Cullen, but then he looked down. "Sometimes I think I must be mad," he said quietly, "trying to break free of this tenacious habit now of all times, when we all need to be at our best."

Hawke gave a deliberately casual shrug. "The way I see it, you quitting the lyrium is you trying to be at your best."

"Thanks." Cullen gave a self-deprecating little snort. "So. Uh, how are your various companions handling all of this? Anders seems to have been well accepted despite our concerns."

Hawke bit his tongue on his reflexive urge to defend Anders. Of everyone in the Inquisition, Cullen had the most right to be wary of him. He'd been there in Kirkwall too, after all. More, he'd stayed to try and help put the city back together even after the rest of them had left. "This isn't Kirkwall," he said as mildly as he could manage. "He's different away from that place. We all are, don't you think?"

"You seem the same, but I'm... I'm not arguing. There does seem to be something in your theory that Kirkwall is cursed. Still, it's not our problem right now." Cullen shook his head ever so slightly. "Whatever my personal feelings on the matter, it can't be argued that he's already been a huge asset for the Inquisition, and that's what matters."

"He could probably help you," Hawke blurted. He'd thought about it when Cullen had first confessed, but didn't think it would be something that would go over well. He still wasn't sure, but felt he had to try. "I haven't told him or anyone about what you are doing, but... Anders is, at his core, a healer. If anyone could help ease lyrium withdrawal, it would be him."

Cullen gave him an incredulous look. "And how painfully ironic that would be!" He shook his head. "To refuse help for the sake of pride would be idiocy under the circumstances, but... would he? Help a templar in that way? He has no more reason to trust me that I have to trust him."

"But you're not a templar anymore. That's the whole point of you not taking lyrium, isn't it?" Hawke asked. "Regardless, I've never known Anders to turn away anyone who asked for help and truly meant it."

Cullen stared at him for a few more moments then said, "I suppose I'll ask then. Just for this time here, so that there's no chance pain could disable me right when I'm most needed."

"Of course. Just this once," Hawke agreed. If Anders was able to help as much as he thought, he hoped that would be enough to make Cullen continue. "As for the others, everyone seems as ready as they can be." He paused. "The quietest has been Carver, but this is more personal for him than anyone else. He's the one who's been an active Warden for most of the last decade."

"Torn between loyalty and obedience on the one hand and what's right on the other? It's a position I know far too well. He has my sympathy. This won't be at all easy for him."

"I tried to talk to him about it, but talking isn't really something Carver and I do." Hawke grimaced. "Not without it immediately turning into yelling."

Cullen looked around the camp. "Is he awake? Perhaps he'd talk to me."

"He might," Hawke allowed. If he was being honest with himself, the chances of Carver talking to anyone who wasn't him were pretty good. Especially if it was someone like Cullen who had wrestled with similar demons.

Cullen paused. "Do you want me to? I don't want to put my foot in it here."

"Maker, please," Hawke said. "He's my brother. Even if we can't seem able to get along. I don't like to see him hurting. If you could do anything to help, I would be grateful."

"Sometimes knowing someone else had been there and got through it is all that's needed." Cullen nodded. "I'll see if I can find him now. Unless you have more to say first?"

Hawke made a 'be my guest' gesture. "Go ahead. I just am going to stand here and stare up at that fortress and worry about tomorrow. I don't need an audience for that."

"Worrying isn't productive. Plan, calculate, prepare for contingencies, but don't uselessly fret," Cullen told him as he left, no doubt advice he'd given himself many times.

***

Dorian had given up on sleep a while back. Now he was just concentrating on lying still so he wouldn't disturb his bedmate since Fenris had managed to drop off. With what the dawn would bring, it would be good if at least one of them was well rested and since it obviously wasn't going to be him...

The problem was that when his mind was like this, going in a million different directions at once, his body tended to want to follow. He kept catching himself starting to fidget and having to force himself to stop. Each time he did he held his breath and snuck a glance at the elf sleeping next to him to see if he had disturbed him.

Without moving at all or even lifting an eyelid, the supposedly sleeping Fenris said, "Do you think if I fucked you hard enough you'd go back to sleep?"

Dorian froze for a moment then sighed. "How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough." Fenris rolled over onto his side to face Dorian, placing a hand on Dorian's chest. "Tomorrow's no different than any other day out in the wilds with Hawke. Not in any way that matters."

Dorian gave a strangled laugh. "Of course. Just another normal day of insanity." He covered Fenris' hand with his own, taking comfort from even that simple touch. "Except with added armies. And demons." He paused. "Granted, demons are pretty much normal day occurrences for us..."

"The armies will fight each other, forget them. We'll fight what Hawke points us at, just as we always do." Fenris sounded almost serene at the prospect. Maybe he was still half asleep.

"You are entirely too calm about all of this," Dorian observed, wishing he could still his nerves half as well. Like it or not, the scope of the attack tomorrow was enough to get inside his head and make him wonder about all the things that could go wrong in a way that when it was just their usual small group adventuring did not.

Fenris lifted his head to look at Dorian; what his elven eyes could make out in the gloom Dorian could only guess. "You're over-thinking it."

"Quite possibly," Dorian agreed with another strangled laugh. "It seems to be what I do. And now I've dragged you into it when you should be asleep. I apologise."

"No apology necessary. What can I do to help?"

He didn't answer right away, torn between what he thought he should do and what he actually wanted to do. Finally, he sighed. "I really should just get up and let you get some sleep, but selfishly I don't want to. I find being here with you already makes things more bearable. Knowing I'm not alone... it means a great deal."

"I'm sorry," Fenris said, sounding it. "I should have spoken up sooner. I'm here. With you."

"You were hoping I'd settle down and go to sleep, like any sane person would have," Dorian said as his usual good humour reasserted itself. He shifted so they were both on their sides, facing each other. "No apologies necessary." He paused. "You did offer a rather intriguing solution."

Fenris barked with laughter. "The offer still stands."

"One should try every solution that presents itself, after all," Dorian said as primly as he could, though he couldn't quite keep from smiling.

Fenris moved his arm further around Dorian and pulled him closer "So this is purely in the name of research?"

"Oh purely," Dorian assured him airily. "Otherwise wouldn't such indulgence on the eve of battle be selfish and unwise?"

"I doubt we'd be the only ones indulging in such 'research' tonight," Fenris said, before kissing him soundly.

Dorian kissed him back, letting Fenris push him over onto his back so he was looking up at the elf when he finally pulled back. It was dark enough that he could barely see more than shadows, but still he looked searchingly up at Fenris, raising a hand to lay against his cheek. "I don't want to lose you," he said with a sudden, raw honesty.

Fenris froze momentarily before relaxing enough to nuzzle against Dorian and saying, "You won't. I promise."

As much as he knew that wasn't a promise Fenris could make, Dorian still let the words comfort him, just as he let his touch do so. "Amatus," he murmured, arching up against the elf. "Make me stop thinking. I... just want to feel. Just for a little while." There would be plenty of time for thinking and worrying in the morning.

"This, I can do." A flair of bright blue light filled the tent as Fenris stroked firmly down Dorian's body with power-charged hands. "Although," he added as an apparent afterthought, "I should maybe gag you for the sake of nearby sleepers."

The threat sent a shiver of arousal through Dorian. Still he made a show of arching an eyebrow as he looked up at Fenris. "You don't think I'm capable of willing myself to be quiet?"

"I _know_ you're not," Fenris claimed. "Not when I've reduced you to an irresistible mess."

"You're assuming I was trying to quiet all those times," Dorian pointed out.

"Such as those times you said, 'we have to be quiet' shortly before you started yelling?"

Dorian paused. "Fair point," he finally admitted. "Though back home I was supremely good at keeping quiet. I had to be. Apparently it's just you who makes me lose all sense of propriety. And volume."

"It's because you trust me," Fenris said simply, nuzzling Dorian's legs apart, "like I trust you. We are free to be ourselves."

There was truth to that, and it made Dorian feel warm just as much as Fenris touching him. "So I should trust you to gag me then? Are you going to bind me as well?" he teased, though the words came out with a little bit more of a needy edge than he had intended.

"Tying your hands to the tent posts could have unfortunate consequences," Fenris said with a quiet chuckle. "I'll see what else I can improvise."

"I put myself completely in your hands then," Dorian said, spreading out his limbs in a gesture of surrender. "Do with me what you will. I have complete faith that whatever it is, we will both enjoy it."

  
  
  



	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _...in which the Abyss stares back._

If asked later, Anders was pretty sure wouldn't be able to remember a single thing about the battle up to this point. All he'd done was follow Hawke's back, scared of losing him as they moved rapidly through the fortress and the fortress hordes. He concentrated on trying to maintain a magical awareness of each of Hawke's ever-larger group of friends within the chaos, so that he could heal when necessary. It _had_ been necessary rather a lot so far. He'd hardly had an opportunity to use offensive magic himself.

Judging by the roars and screeches he heard over the general hubbub of battle, and by the type of injuries received by his allies, there were a lot of demons here. Working alongside their new best friends, the Wardens, no doubt. He'd caught sight of one of those enormous pride demons at one point, but it was presumably dead now, like the rest.

But now they had paused before a large door which looked like it probably led through to a central courtyard. Carver had rejoined them from the battlements leading a small Inquisition troop with him, and Anders took this moment of breath-catching to check if he needed healing. Somehow he didn't. He'd clearly become quite the warrior during his time in the Wardens.

Hawke's sharp eyes looked over their entire party, he exchanged nods with Carver and a wordless gaze and slight smile with Anders himself. "Shall we go and try to talk some sense into Clarel?"

"After you, brother," Carver said, giving in, Anders thought, to the inevitable.

"After _me_ ," Fenris growled and stepped in front of Hawke. "Stand back. There may be a trap." Hawke or anyone else didn't get a chance to argue with Fenris because the elf just opened the door, ghosting as he stepped through.

No trap made itself known.

Through the door lay an enormous, multi-levelled courtyard filled with Wardens, none of whom were paying any attention to the people now rushing in behind them. All eyes were on a raised level opposite where two people stood, a third just dropping into a bloody heap, already dead. One of those standing was recognisably Erimond, He recognised them in turn and didn't seem very happy about it.

"Stop them! We must complete the ritual." He gestured towards a rift-like area of fade energy swirling in the centre of the courtyard above a low dais. Mage wardens stood around it.

Hawke moved level with Fenris, clasped his shoulder briefly as he passed, his eyes never leaving Erimond. "I'm sure you can't wait to do that," he drawled, all sarcasm and tightly contained anger. "How else are you going to bind her?"

"We're keeping the world safe from Darkspawn; who wouldn't want that?" Erimond called out. "Yes, we're binding a demon to her. Yes, we're using blood sacrifice to do it. Hate me for it if you must, but do not hate the Wardens for doing their duty."

The person with him stepped forward. She was a Warden-mage, no doubt Clarel herself. When she spoke, the sincerity in her voice made a stark contrast to Erimond's supercilious pontification.

"We make the sacrifices no one else will," she said. "Our wardens die proudly for a world that will never thank them."

One of those proud sacrifices, Anders noticed, lay dead on a table close by the pair.

"Clarel, you bloody fool!" Carver shouted. "He's not binding a demon to you; he's binding _you_ to Corypheus!"

"Who, incidentally," Anders couldn't stop himself adding, "is behind the false Calling you've all been hearing."

"Corypheus?" Clarel repeated, her tone now hardly loud enough to hear. "But he's dead!"

Erimond walked close to her. "These people will say anything to shake your confidence. You must stay strong."

Clarel put her hand to her head.

Hawke took another step forward and Anders could feel the man practically vibrating with his need to stop this. "Please don't do this," Hawke urged. "I've seen more than my share of blood magic and it's never worth the cost. I don't doubt for a second your motives are noble, but this isn't the way."

"Brothers and sisters," Carver said, stepping beside his brother. "End this madness. You have been lied to again and again, but it's not too late. You're not saving the world from the Blight; you're giving yourself over, mind and body, to a Tevinter force led by a darkspawn magister!"

Clarel dropped her hand and looked up. For a moment, Anders dared to hope, but then she looked towards the warden mages around the ritual dais and said, "Bring it through."

Hawke made an incoherent sound of frustration as the rift the mages were controlling grew bigger. "Listen to me!" he yelled. "I have no quarrel with the Wardens. Some of the people I care for the most _are_ wardens. I've spared those I could. I don't want to kill you... but you're being used!" He paused and looked around at the gathered warden warriors watching them. "And some of you know it, don't you?"

A warden stepped forward, his eyes wide and scared. "The mages who've done the ritual? They're not right. They were my friends, but now they're like puppets on a string."

"You cannot let fear sway your mind, Warden Chernoff," Clarel called out.

"He's not afraid," Hawke countered, eyes dark with anger and frustration. "You are! You're afraid to admit you might be wrong because then you would've ordered all these brave men and women to die for _nothing_!"

"Oh, not for nothing," Anders said, hating the anguish this was causing Hawke. "I wouldn't call swelling the armies of an insane ancient magister nothing. You mages will envy the warrior brothers you kill when you find yourself trapped, controlless, doing the bidding of one of the very beings who began the Blight in the first place!"

Almost as one, the warrior wardens turned confrontative glares towards Clarel, who in turn directed her stare at Erimond.

"Clarel, we have come so far," the Tevinter urged. "You're the only one who can do this."

"Perhaps we could test the truth of these charges," she replied. "To avoid more bloodshed."

"Or perhaps I could bring in a more reliable ally." Erimond turned from her and slammed his staff into the stone at his feet. "My master thought you might come here, Inquisitor. He sent me this to welcome you."

A horribly familiar roar came from out of the sky, and Anders looked up to see the archdemon dragon from Haven diving down at them. It opened its mouth to attack, and Inquisition and wardens alike frantically dove and scrambled out of the way of its breath.

Looking up from where he had landed. Anders saw Erimond standing by the sacrificial table, rhythmically pounding his staff against the ground, watching with an unholy glee on his face as the dragon circled the clearing again and landed on a nearby tower with another roar.

Erimond raised his staff, ready to do... something. Anders never found out what as a bolt of energy hit Erimond from behind, knocking him down. Clarel had finally come to her senses, but it was too late. Far too late.

Anders struggled to his feet and watched Clarel look between where Erimond had fallen and the dragon. Maker, she wasn't going to attack the thing on her own, was she?

She was, a bolt of lightning hurtled towards the tower top where the dragon perched. The dragon responded predictably with a far more effective blast of its own blighted energy, but that was when Anders noticed they had an all new, extra problem. A towering pride demon was emerging from the rift, but behind it, still in the Fade, Anders could see something that chilled him to his core. A gigantic demon, larger than any Anders had seen before, like a monstrous spider the size of a large house.

Hawke had to close that rift and now.

The dragon took to the skies again, and Clarel dashed off after it with a shouted order to the wardens to help the Inquisitor. Hawke, being Hawke, had made a beeline for the pride demon as soon as it appeared, hurling fire and ice at it in equal measure. The others were also getting into the fight, attacking the demon and the bound warden mages both.

The fight was wild and chaotic and dangerous, but in the end they were the ones left standing. Hawke gave them no time to catch their breath, immediately dashing up some nearby stairs as he chased after Clarel, Erimond and the dragon. He hadn't closed the rift; maybe it wasn't one his mark would work on?

While rushing after him, Anders healed what he could of the burns and tears left on his friends' bodies from the fight. It was hard to concentrate though when rushing up apparently endless flights of stairs and dodging dragon blightfire as he did it.

"Is everyone all right?" he called out breathlessly.

"We're voluntarily chasing after an archdemon! I think it's safe to say that 'all right' is not a phrase that should be applied to any of us," Dorian called out, though there was laughter in his voice as he did so. If it was a little bit on the hysterical side, well, Anders understood the feeling.

He thought it was debatable who was chasing whom as they veered abruptly to avoid more blightfire, the dragon's head intruding over the walkway down which they were running. Fenris roared and tried to run at the blunt head, his sword hilt raised in both hands, but the dragon was already flapping away.

" _Venhedis_!"

"Keep going!" Hawke yelled, barely pausing to throw chain lightning at a group of demons attacking some warden warriors. "We need to get to somewhere high enough and open enough that we can actually fight that thing!"

So they were actually going to fight it, not just chase after Clarel who was chasing after the wormish magister. Of course they were. How could he have ever thought otherwise? Anders jogged after Hawke and hoped to the Void that just because Corypheus' dragon was here, it didn't mean that he was too. But if he was, please Maker, let Justice be up to the task of blocking the bastard out.

They continued running and climbing stairs, getting progressively higher, pausing every now and then to wipe out another group of demons. The dragon continued circling, the flapping of its wings and occasional roar constant in their ears.

They caught up to Clarel on a stone bridge near the top of the fort She had Erimond down, curled in a whimpering pile of singed rags, as she stood over him, almost incandescent with rage and power. Anders could feel her gathering energy for a finishing blow when the dragon swooped down and snatched Clarel up in its powerful jaws.

For a very long second, everyone just stood there, open mouthed. Then the shouting and rushing about began again. The dragon landed on a nearly battlement and shook Clarel's body violent in its jaws before letting her drop to the stone floor below.

Anders' healing sense saw the extent of her wounds and knew she was should be dead, but somehow she herself didn't seem to know it yet. As the dragon, stalking Hawke, crawled down the battlement and over where she lay, she rolled over and released a huge blast of electrical energy up at the beast.

Blood magic, of course, but for once Anders felt he could almost forgive its use... except that the spell and the now wildly thrashing dragon seemed to be destroying the stone surface on which they all stood. Maker, no...

"Move!" Hawke yelled, gesturing for them to retreat as the bridge started shaking and falling apart from the edges of where the dragon fell, the destruction moving quickly in their direction. It quickly caught up to where Carver and Fenris were standing, the stones under their feet crumpling away.

Anders froze, horrified and helpless, but it was with no hesitation that Hawke reversed his direction, diving forward to grab both of them, and all three somehow managed to scramble up. It was all to no end though as the bridge was crumbling faster now and safety was too far away. Anders watched dumbly, stumbling towards Hawke rather than away from the disappearing stone. Then the ground was gone from beneath his feet, and they were all falling...

***

They were falling.

Every fibre of Hawke's being was screaming in denial of this being the end, but even he couldn't fight gravity. Sheer will and stubbornness wasn't going to save them this time...

Or was it? The anchor flashed and tingled pulling at power from him even though there wasn't a rift visible. The whole world flashed bright sickly green for a moment...

And then his stomach flipped as he suddenly found himself falling _up_.

By the time he got his bearings enough to take in his surroundings, he found himself hovering in midair with the ground above his head. Instinctively, he reached out for it, stretching as much as he could to just barely touch it with a finger.

The second he did, everything seemed to rotate around again, and he found himself hitting the ground on his back hard enough to knock the breath out of him.

"Where are we?" he heard his brother say. "Is this... the Void?"

"The big thing about the Void, Junior," Varric drawled from somewhere above Hawke, "is that it's empty. Of everything. This place? Has way too many things, and none of them in the right place. Case in point, Hawke, what are you doing up there? And when you decide to fall, try to miss me, okay?"

Hawke looked up and saw Varric standing upside down on another piece of ground floating directly above him. He glanced to the side and saw his brother standing at right angles to where the ground was, at least to Hawke's perspective.

This... this was not normal. Even for the rather loose definition of the word that Hawke had come to embrace. He climbed slowly to his feet, frowning down at the ground he was standing on, worried that it suddenly might not _be_ the ground any more, but it stayed firmly below him. At least for now.

He had a moment of seriously wondering if they were actually dead, but figured this was too weird for something as prosaic as death. "If this is the afterlife, the Chantry owes me an apology. This looks nothing like the Maker's bosom."

"How would we know?" Fenris asked, coming to stand with Hawke, his sword still in his hands despite everything. Having him there allowed Hawke to feel more confident that _his_ way up was the right way up. "This looks like the Fade did to me, just... in pieces." His voice trailed off, sounding uncharacteristically uncertain as he turned on the spot, looking... ah, for Dorian.

"The last time I entered the Fade, it looked like a lovely castle filled with gold and silks." Dorian's voice, coming from just off to the side of them. Hawke turned in time to see him carefully picking his way across the same piece of Fade ground as them. "I met a marvellous desire demon, as I recall. We chatted and ate grapes before he attempted to possess me."

In spite of the situation, Hawke couldn't help but to be curious. "Tevinter version of a harrowing?" he asked.

"More or less," Dorian replied, stopping beside Fenris, close enough to touch though not actually doing so. "I hear your southern harrowings are slightly more strenuous."

Fenris reached out and grabbed Dorian's nearest arm. He gave it a little squeeze as if checking it was solid before letting go. "You opened a rift," he said, turning back to Hawke.

Hawke, meanwhile, had realised that he couldn't see Anders though he remembered seeing him fall as well. "I suppose I did. It's amazing what you can do when the alternative is being smashed to little pieces," he answered absently as he spun on the spot much as Fenris had done a moment before. Where was he? He had to have come through with the rest of them. If he hadn't...

Hawke refused to even complete the thought. "Has anyone seen Anders?"

" **He's here** ," said Anders' voice, almost, from one side. Hawke looked over to see him nimbly hopping diagonally to get from a slab of Fade stuff at right angles to their own. It was the smoothness of the movement as much as the blue glow emanating from him that told Hawke it was Justice talking.

As Justice drew closer, he said, " **Anders is asleep. Broken stone hit us as we fell. I've used his magic to heal him; he should soon awaken. We should not be here, Hawke. The Fade isn't meant for physical bodies.** "

"It wasn't really a conscious choice," Hawke told him, feeling himself relax a little at the sight of his lover even if Justice was currently in charge. "I just didn't want us to die in the fall. Bringing us here just sort of... happened."

"You've done this before, yes?" Dorian asked. "At the temple. How did you get back then?"

Hawke might have done it before, but that time in his memory remained stubbornly elusive. "I don't know," he said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I still can't remember what happened."

" **This is the domain of a powerful demon,** " Justice said, looking around. " **Perhaps the one feeding lesser demons through the rift to merge with those unfortunate wardens.** "

"Lovely," Fenris said with a sneer.

This day just kept getting better and better. They needed to get out of there and quickly. Hawke glanced up and saw in the distance the tell tale green glow of a rift. "There," he said pointing. "I'm betting that's the rift that was opened back in the hall. If we can get to it, we can get out." _Hopefully_.

"I take it you can't just open another one here," Varric said. "Because if physical bodies shouldn't be here, I'm thinking that goes double for dwarven bodies."

Hawke looked down at his hand and even shook it a little, but the mark remained stubbornly quiescent. "Doesn't look like it," he said. "It's not like this thing came with instructions. It just... does its thing when I wave it around. Or not, in this case."

"Punching yet another hole in the Veil probably isn't the best course of action anyway," Dorian put in. Hawke noted that he had somehow moved even closer to Fenris while still managing to maintain a casual demeanour. "The Veil is already damaged in this area, we wouldn't want to accidentally bring it down entirely. Best to use a rift that already exists if we can."

"Bring the Veil down entirely?" Carver said incredulously. "Is that possible?"

Hawke exchanged grim looks with Varric, remembering what the sky had looked like in that horrible future they'd visited and knowing Varric was doing the same. "Believe me, brother, you _really_ don't want to know. Come on, we've got a trek ahead of us if we're going to make it up to that thing."

Varric made his way cautiously down to the 'ground', picking up his crossbow on the way and checking her over for damage. "Bianca doesn't like it here either," he said, joining the others. "So quick march it is."

"Demons," Fenris announced before they'd made it further than a few steps.

"It is the Fade," Dorian pointed out. "This is where they live after all. We're the intruders." He pulled out his staff. "Not that we shouldn't kill them dead regardless, mind you."

"Let's take care of these quickly and move on," Hawke said. There was something about this place. He had a feeling that lingering would be... bad.

Taking care of them quickly proved not to be an issue. These, it seemed, were weak things, not like the ones that made it through a rift to terrorise Thedas.

Just as they were starting to stride onwards again, a bewildered voice from beside him asked, "Hawke?"

_Anders_. The tension in Hawke's muscles eased as he turned to his lover and saw the familiar amber gaze blinking at him confusedly. "Welcome back, love," he said, reaching for Anders' hands with a small smile. "How much do I need to explain?"

"We're not dead?" Anders moved close. "We were falling..."

Apparently he was going to have to explain everything. "We were," Hawke confirmed. He held up his marked hand, though keeping hold of Anders' with his other. "I apparently can open rifts as well as close them. Don't ask me how, I don't know. We fell through. The good news is we didn't die. The not so good news is that we're in the Fade. Physically."

"Ah," Anders said, looking down. "Well, at least I'm not hallucinating then. It probably explains why Justice is so... loud too."

"You were unconscious, Blondie," Varric told him. "Justice was keeping you walking around blasting and healing things until you got back."

Anders glanced at him and then around at the others. "How can we even breathe here? The Fade is made of the stuff of thoughts. You can't breathe thoughts."

"Just as you said, the Fade responds to thoughts," Dorian said. "So ergo, we can breathe because we think we can breathe." He paused. "I wouldn't advise dwelling too much on how we shouldn't be able to, just to be on the safe side."

Wonderful. Something else to worry about going wrong. "Let's just be grateful we _can_ breathe," Hawke said. He pointed to the distant rift. "We're heading there. I fell out of a rift back at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, so we should be able to get out the same way here."

"Okay," Anders said, rubbing absently at the back of his head. "I imagine this will start to feel more real in a bit." Then he frowned, staring beyond Hawke. "Is that... the Black City?"

They all turned to look at the dark outline which almost certainly was what Anders had said.

"We really shouldn't be here, should we?" Carver said in an uncharacteristically faint voice. "Maker, please let us not bring back something even worse than the Blight with us if we make it out of here."

There really wasn't much to be said to that.

Hawke started walking, still holding Anders' hand, who after a few steps, said, "You're right, Dorian. It's important to keep our thoughts and feelings very directed and positive. We're in a place where dreams come true, after all."

"Maker's breath, I hope not," Carver said from behind them.

"I think that's something we'd have to worry more about if we were here in a more normal manner," Hawke told him. "Don't worry, I doubt we're all going to be treated to a romp through your subconscious desires, Carver."

"And suddenly being a dwarf in the Fade is a _good_ thing," Varric said dryly as they made their way up some Fade steps to a higher area.

There was something... someone up there.

When they got closer and was able to make out details, they all slowed to a stop. The figure was that of a woman, who looked familiar in a vague way. The robes she wore though were unmistakable to anyone who grew up under the Chantry, covered in intricate golden embroidery and topped with a distinctively shaped large hat.

It was the traditional garb of the Divine.

They were looking at Divine Justinia. Or something that had taken on her shape.

"Maker, can it be...?" Carver said in an awed tone.

Varric gave a low whistle. "All right, own up. Who dreamt this?"

Justinia, or the thing that looked like Justinia, gave them a kind smile. "I greet you, Warden," she said to Carver, then switched her gaze to Hawke. "And you, Champion."

"Divine Justinia," Hawke found himself saying. Then he frowned and shook his head. "It can't be. The real Divine died at Haven."

Justinia seemed unruffled at that. "Did she? How much of Haven do you truly remember?" she asked not unkindly. "You think my survival impossible yet here you stand alive in the Fade yourselves. In truth, proving my existence either way would require time we do not have."

That brought out the skeptic in Hawke. "Really? How long does it take to answer one question. I am a human, and you are...?"

"I am here to help you," Justinia replied serenely. "You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor."

"The real Divine would have no way of knowing that I'd been made inquisitor." Hawke pointed out the flaw in the otherwise perfect illusion in front of them.

Justinia or whatever she was did not so much as blink, however. "I know because I have examined memories like yours, stolen by the demon that serves Corypheus. It is the nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror." She shifted her gaze to Carver and Anders. "The false Calling that terrified the wardens into making such grave mistakes? Its work."

"An alpha fear demon," Anders said thoughtfully. "A nightmare. _The_ nightmare of the wardens. It... makes sense. Justice says this is a spirit, Hawke. But not a demon. He believes her honest. Did you take this form to help us trust you?" he asked the spirit Divine.

The Divine looked at Anders for a long moment as if considering him. Then her eyes began to glow, getting brighter and brighter until the glow obscured her entire form. When Hawke was able to see her again, she no longer looked like Justinia, but a beautiful glowing spirit form though with the same silhouette as the Divine.

Fenris stepped forward. "Did you see the Divine, spirit? When she passed through?"

The spirit turned her head to look at them. "If that is the story you wish to tell, it is not a bad one," she said. "But we need to focus on the demon whose lair this is." She turned back to Hawke. "You must escape the Fade and lead your people against Corypheus. That is how you will hurt it."

Hawke let out a humourless laugh. "We're working on it."

The spirit continued. "When you entered the Fade at Haven, the demon took a part of you. Before you do anything else, you must recover it." She gestured gracefully with a hand at the clearing beyond where they stood. "These are your memories, Inquisitor."

"Those are more demons," Fenris snarled, lifting his sword.

"I told you," Anders said, casting a quick barrier, "the Fade is made from the stuff of thoughts. They can be demons and memories both."

With all of them focused on the fight, it did not take long. When they were done, they were left with several floating green wisps that seemed to pull at Hawke. With a glance at the others, he held out his marked hand towards one of them and felt it draw on the anchor's power.

When it stopped, they all heard Justinia's voice call out, "Why are you doing this? You of all people?"

"So it's my brother's repressed thoughts we're all going to share," Carver said. "Wonderful."

"Could be worse," Hawke shot back as he moved towards the next floating wisp. "Could be your thoughts." Which, now that he thought about it, had probably been Carver's point.

He reached out and pulled on the wisp before his brother could reply.

The voice they heard this time was still Justinia's, but it was much more urgent. "Run while you can! Warn them!"

The next one memory yielded a different voice and one that Hawke did remember hearing, but only in a Fade echo. "Bring forth the sacrifice." Corypheus.

"I remember that line," Varric said. "You know, if I wrote a villain who spoke like that, they'd call me a cliched hack."

"You mean, more than they already do?" Carver asked.

Varric sighed. "Yeah, more than that."

"Corypheus is old enough that maybe it wasn't so cliche in his time," Dorian suggested as Hawke moved towards the final wisp.

This time when the wisp pulled on the energy of the anchor, the whole world went away and Hawke found himself in another time and place.

_His memory._

He saw the Divine held up in magical bonds, like he had in the Fade echo back at Haven. This time, however, he could also see who was holding her – warden mages.

"Now is the hour of our victory," he heard Corypheus say, though he couldn't see him yet.

"Why are you doing this?" Justinia asked the wardens holding her captive. "You of all people?"

The wardens ignored her as Corypheus stalked into Hawke's sight, holding the same glowing green orb that he'd had when he destroyed Haven. "Keep the sacrifice still," he ordered and held the orb out towards Justinia.

The orb seemed to be pulling energy directly from her. "Someone help me!" she yelled as she writhed in the bonds holding her.

The door slammed open and Hawke burst in. "What's going on- _You_." He remembered now the disbelieving shock and horror he'd felt when he recognized Corypheus. "It can't be!"

Corypheus stared at him with the same disbelief for a second before sneering at Hawke. "You're too late to stop me." He glanced at the wardens around him. "We have an intruder. Slay the Hawke."

With his attention off of Justinia, however, she took advantage, managing to break free from her bonds enough to knock the orb out of Corypheus' hand. It fell to the floor and rolled directly towards Hawke.

Without even thinking about it, Hawke bent down and picked it up with his left hand.

Immediately, he was caught in a vortex of power pouring through him, centered where it was touching his hand. It was like nothing Hawke had experience before, but it was overwhelming, like being struck by lightning only a thousand times worse. Through the chaos and pain he could see Corypheus snarl in anger and start towards him. Then the world exploded.

He found himself being supported by Anders, although he wasn't sure he needed it. Not now, anyway. "One way or another," Anders was saying in a low voice, "wardens are bad news for clerical types."

It was terrible, inappropriate humour, but it pulled a rusty laugh out of Hawke anyway. Then he blinked and stared hard at Anders. "Wait... you saw that? Did you all...?"

"We all saw it," Fenris confirmed from close by.

"Or some of it, at least," Varric put in. "That poor woman."

"She was a quick thinker," Hawke said, replaying the memory over in his head again. "If she hadn't knocked that orb away from Corypheus... Well, I'm sure it would've been worse."

"Corypheus intended to rip open the Veil, use the anchor to enter the Fade and throw open the doors to the Black City," the spirit Divine said. "Not for the Old Gods, but for himself."

"See?" Hawke said, gesturing at her. "That would've been worse."

"When you disrupted his plan, the orb bestowed the anchor on you instead," she continued.

"So no Andraste involved?" Hawke asked, mostly joking. "Just the typical Hawke luck, wrong place, wrong time, now I'm stuck saving the world. Sounds about right."

"I don't know, Hawke," Varric said slowly. "Seems to me, Andraste could just as easily set you up for the right kind of luck as she could have interfered more directly. I can't help thinking that most people who found themselves in that position wouldn't have found their way out again."

"Contracted a touch of religion there, dwarf?" Fenris asked with a snort of humour.

"Just what I always wanted to be blessed with," Hawke said, rolling his eyes. "Divine bad luck. Can we get back to the matter at hand and getting out of here now?"

"You cannot escape the lair of the Nightmare until you recover all that it took from you," the Divine told him. "You have recovered some of yourself, but now it knows you are here. You must make haste. I will prepare the way ahead." And with that, between one blink and the next she was gone.

"Well, it's nice to have a guide in this place," Anders said. "Not all your luck is bad, love."

Carver strode up to stand beside Hawke. "Go on, then. Get it out of your system."

Hawke looked at his brother. "Get what out of my system?"

"We all saw them. Wardens. They were working with Corypheus even before the Conclave. Long before this 'experiment' of Erimond's. They helped a darkspawn murder hundreds. So say it."

"They wouldn't be the first wardens we've run into who've made bad decisions where Corypheus is concerned," Hawke said. "How much of that is Corypheus' influence on them and how much of it was just them being stupid, we can't know. And I'm not about to condemn them when we don't know how much of it was their fault."

Carver opened his mouth and then shut it again. "Huh." Then he shrugged. "Not sure what's going to be left of the order after this anyway."

"There's still Weisshaupt," Anders pointed out. "And still Warden Commander Elissa. She'll have a dozen conniptions when she finds out what's been happening here."

"I forgot you knew her," Carver admitted. "Do you know where she is? We could really do with her being around right now."

"Well, she sure as nugs taste sweet isn't hanging around here," Varric urged, "so let's get moving."

They continued on, the path they were following continuing to be creepy and vaguely disconcerting, but also settling into enough of a sameness to make their progress seem rather tedious. Round a corner, kill a bunch of demons, round another corner, see something distressing set at an unnatural angle, rinse, repeat.

Their usual banter was muted and subdued, leaving everyone lost in their own thoughts as they moved. Or at least Hawke was. He kept turning over his recovered memory, running it over and over in his mind. It wasn't really a pleasant thing to fixate on, but it was still less disturbing than being met with the blank space he'd had in its place for so long.

He was aware of Anders sticking close to him and yet giving him the space to think, but then suddenly heard, " **I agree. The marshes were similarly malign.** "

Startled, Hawke looked over at Justice – because that was who it was now. "What was that?"

Justice blinked and frowned at Hawke. " **My apologies. I did not intend to speak aloud**." He blinked again and the blue glowing eyes had returned to amber. "Sorry about that," Anders said, looking sheepish. "He didn't mean to take control. He's just so strong here in his natural element."

"At least you're awake this time," Hawke said wryly, remembering the last time they'd been in the Fade together, back in Kirkwall to help Feynriel, and how Anders had all but disappeared in Justice.

"No blows to the head this time," Anders said and then paused. "Or.. oh, do you mean back in Kirkwall? I wonder how that lad's doing in Tevinter." He looked around. "Dorian! I realise Tevinter's a big place so the answer is probably no, but have you heard of an apprentice dreamer called Feynriel?"

Dorian frowned. "Slim fellow, blond hair, half-elf?" he asked. "Oh, he is from Kirkwall, isn't he? That makes sense."

Hawke raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You know him?"

"He's apprenticed to that dear friend of mine I mentioned – Magister Maevaris Tilani." Dorian smiled. He looked at Varric. "I assume that you had a hand in that?"

"I might have asked her to look out for him, yeah. I'm told he's doing well. Sorry, Hawke. I never thought to mention it. She took him in after his first mentor suddenly stopped being alive. By the way," he continued, turning back to Dorian, "last I heard they were trying to keep the 'half-elf' bit hidden from the general hoi-polloi."

"The general hoi-polloi are made up of small minded, mean spirited, odious bores who sneer and look down on anything remotely different," Dorian pointed out. "They're not worth associating with anyway."

"Just trying to save the lad some trouble, I guess." Varric shrugged.

" _Ah, we have a visitor_." The voice seemed to come from all around them, simultaneously too loud to come from a mortal throat yet kept low, almost intimate. Hawke could've sworn he had never heard it before, but it was somehow horribly familiar all the same. " _Some foolish old man comes to steal the fear I've kindly lifted from his shoulders. You should have thanked me and left your fear where it lay, forgotten._ "

Demons, larger and more powerful than the sorry wraiths they'd met before, spawned all around them.

Hawke was almost happy to see them; it was much easier to deal with fear when he had something to set on fire. Pulling out the Key, he did just that, raining fire and lightning down on the demons as they all rushed forward to meet them.

" _You think that pain will make you stronger? What drivel. You, who have felt so much pain, know better than that. As each new trauma hits you, you grow a little more fragile, a little less able to face your next foe_. _The only one who grows stronger from your fear is me_."

" **Demon**!" And here came Justice again. " **The only power you possess is stolen, and your dependence on it means your destruction is inevitable.** "

" _Arrgh! How dare you trespass in my domain, little spirit. Sneaking in wearing a human as a disguise. No matter. There is no room in nightmares for justice as you will soon find out_."

Hawke found himself grinning fiercely as he swung the Key around to take out one last demon. The Nightmare obviously didn't like having Justice here one bit. If they could keep getting under its skin, then Hawke felt like they had a chance. "You know what all that trauma has taught me?" he taunted. "You get knocked down, you stand back up and keep fighting. It's not over until you stay down. And I never stay down."

" _Ah, but you will though. And what's more you know it. You've said it yourself, how little it would take to break you now. Just a small thing, a quick thing, almost inconsequential. One little death amongst thousands, and then where would your precious Inquisition be? I'll leave you to think about that for a little while._ "

"Was he talking about me?" Anders asked, coming to stand close, Justice having faded back again.

"Well, it certainly wasn't me," Carver said with a snort.

"It doesn't matter who it was talking about because no one is dying," Hawke stated implacably, making himself believe it with everything he had. Because in truth, the Nightmare had hit a little closer to the mark than he really felt comfortable admitting. Either of their deaths would leave him wrecked and devastated.

He felt Anders' hand on his back, warming him with a slight touch of magic, but it was Justice who spoke. " **Remember, Hawke. Fear is what he feeds on, and he will say anything to be able to feed.** "

"We're its dairy cattle," Fenris said, sounding disgusted. "Well, it will not feed on me!"

"Now there's an image," Dorian said, sotto-voiced, and Hawke couldn't hold back a snort of amusement at the mental picture the words painted, feeling instantly better at doing so.

"Come on," he said, feeling able to breathe again. "Let's keep moving. The sooner we get out of here, the happier I'll be."

"So say we all," Varric said, shouldering Bianca.

But they didn't get far before the next attack. As rage demons did their best to burn them all alive, Nightmare spoke again.

" _I will not feed on you, Fenris? How wrong you are. Of all you little mortals, you, Fenris, are the one who fears the most. Fear for Hawke; fear for Dorian; fear that one day your markings will kill you, or worse, those you love. But those are mere appetisers, tasty but ultimately unfulfilling. My main course is the terror that paralyses you every night as you lie awake in the dark, the one you know to be true. You are not free. You will never be free. You were born a slave and will always be a slave. No matter how much you fight, or bite and claw at your chains, they will never fall from you. Because they_ are _you._ "

Fenris yelled wordlessly and flared a blue almost impossibly bright, but instead of using that power to slay the demons he'd taunted to him, he instead fell to his knees. The demons moved in for the kill.

Only to find themselves frozen on the spot as a sudden blizzard whipped into existence around them. Through the wind and blowing snow, Hawke could make out the figure of Dorian standing between the demons, and Fenris, eyes glowing with his magic as he directed the freezing winds with his twirling staff.

" _Non tanget eum_!" Dorian yelled imperiously, hands glowing purple as he threw a spell at the demon in the centre. Seconds later, it exploded, shattering all the demons frozen by his storm. Immediately, he dropped to his knees beside Fenris and reached for him.

Fenris had his arms wrapped around himself as if Dorian's spell had chilled him, but Hawke knew Dorian was far more careful with his magic than to let that happen. Fenris was trying to speak, but words seemed hard to come by.

"Take... take it."

"Take what, amatus?" Dorian asked, voice soothing although Hawke could see the worry in his expression.

" _Ven... hedis..._ " Fenris shakily stretched out a hand glowing like a lyrium torch, not towards Dorian, but to Anders. "Take it."

"He means his lyrium," Anders said, sounding both worried and reluctant. "Draw power from him."

Dorian swore quietly. "Of course. We're _in_ the Fade so there's nowhere for the power to go, not like there is usually." It was obvious he didn't like it, but he wrapped his hand around Fenris' arm and began pulling on the lyrium brands' power nonetheless.

Fenris sagged against him and the flare of light around him slowly faded to more manageable levels. " _Gratias_ ," he muttered.

The sound of Nightmare's laugh rattled around them.

Dorian brought his hands up to cup Fenris' face, speaking quietly, but with as much conviction as Hawke had ever heard from him. "I don't need to tell you it was lying, do I, amatus? Because I know you. You will break any chain put on you. You already have. You're not a slave, Fenris, and you never will be. The only way Danarius was ever able to subjugate you was to make you forget yourself completely, and even that didn't work in the end. No one can cage someone as free and wild as you. Not for long."

Fenris opened his mouth to reply, but Nightmare replied for him before he had a chance.

" _That thing in your arms you call Fenris isn't real, you know. He's a construct, a fabrication of pain, lyrium and and the hole left by lost memories. The real elf is Leto, an obedient slave, proud to dance to his master's strings. He's still there, underneath. Take enough of that lyrium away, and you'll get to meet him. I'm sure you'll find him very appeasing, Dorian. It is Dorian, isn't it? For a moment I mistook you for your father._ "

Dorian stilled entirely for a heartbeat, but then he rolled his eyes dramatically and huffed, "Rather uncalled for." Hawke didn't miss how his hand had dropped to Fenris' and was holding on tightly.

Fenris dragged himself to his feet, pulling Dorian with him. "My apologies," he said rather stiffly to all assembled. "Had I known what allowing my anger to charge my abilities would do here, I would have remained calm. It won't happen again."

He gave Dorian a weak but gentle smile.

"I can't imagine why I don't go adventuring with my brother more often," Carver said to no one in particular. "It's always so... educational. And, oh look, more, uh... darkspawn?"

"You mean spiders," Hawke corrected, lip curling in distaste as the large, eight-legged things skittered and scurried towards them. Maker, he _hated_ spiders. He shot out an arc of ice, freezing solid those that tried to get too near. "This place just keeps getting more and more delightful."

"These are spiders?" Varric asked incredulously, spraying the things with crossbow bolts. "What, did they lose four legs and get stuck in a bath of red lyrium?"

"No, Carver is right. They're a kind of darkspawn," Anders said, fireballing a group of them. "I've seen them before in Amaranthine. They're called childer. Even other darkspawn fear them."

"We're all seeing something different," Fenris asserted. "They look like whatever we fear." He didn't mention what it was he saw.

"So killing them is a physical representation of overcoming our fears then," Dorian stated, blasting the one nearest him with entirely too much relish. "How therapeutic."

"I'd find it more therapeutic if they had less legs," Hawke said, grimacing as one fell over onto its back, its legs all waving around disgustingly as it shrivelled up in the heat of a flame spell. Still, he supposed, they were easier to deal with than the disembodied voice messing with their minds.

"I'm going to enjoy 'overcoming' a certain nightmare," Fenris growled. He seemed much recovered, but he wasn't, Hawke noticed, using his lyrium brands.

"Let's just keep going," Varric said, sounding uncharacteristically grim.

That unfortunately seemed to bring him to the Nightmare's attention. " _Once again, Hawke is in danger because of you, Varric. You found the red lyrium. You led him to the Warden Prison. You were the reason he was at the Conclave. You brought him here._ "

"You think I don't know that?" Varric asked the air. "It's hardly news. Is that really all you've got?"

But the Nightmare wasn't finished. " _But that's what you do, isn't it? Get rid of anyone who tries to get too close. That way you won't have to worry that they're going to choose someone else. Like Bianca did. Even now you hold on to something that is empty and non-existent because you're not brave enough to try for more. Far easier to have your most significant relationship with a crossbow, isn't it?"_

"Called it," Anders muttered only loud enough for Hawke to hear.

Varric shook his head. "Just keep talking, smiley." He gripped Bianca to himself. "Don't listen to him, baby. He knows nothing."

Hawke moved close enough to grip Varric's shoulder briefly, but didn't say anything.

The Nightmare, meanwhile, seemed to have grown bored and moved on to another target. _"Carver Hawke. Hawke the younger. Hawke the lesser. Unblessed and unimportant. Always the second thought. How many times have you wished your brother dead? Tell the truth, if Garrett had died at the Conclave, wouldn't the first thing you would have felt have been relief?_ "

Carver screwed his face up. "Are you asking if I'm scared of my brother _not_ dying?"

"You must be in a constant state of terror then," Hawke joked.

Carver shook his head. "When I wish my brother dead, I say it to his face, and I haven't felt the need to do that for years. Do you know what I think, demon? I think you're stuck on me. I've so many fears juicier than that one. I think the taint is blocking you from seeing them." Carver sounded grimly delighted.

" _No matter,_ " the Nightmare said dismissively. " _It's not like you actually matter enough for me to make more of an effort on you_."

"I'm starting to see the advantages in that, believe me." Carver laughed, albeit somewhat wryly. "Come on, everyone. We've stopped moving. Time to start."

They had to backtrack a little to find a way onwards. As they did, Nightmare was still intoning on.

" _Not that Hawke senior_ really _matters,_ " it said. " _I'm sorry, did you think you did? Did you think anything you ever did really mattered? You couldn't even save your city. How could you expect to strike down a god?_ "

"I struck him down once," Hawke said, even though he knew engaging was probably not his best decision. He deliberately gave an absent minded shrug and continued. "I'll just have to keep doing it until he stays down."

" _You only won that fight because he let you. Using you was part of his plan. You opened the seals for him, brought his new body to him. Everything that has happened since has been your fault_."

"Hold on," Carver said. "You just said nothing he ever did mattered, and now everything's his fault? You can't have it both ways."

Nightmare, probably quite wisely, ignored him. " _Anders is going to die in your arms. Just like your mother, like your sister. There will be nothing that you can do about it._ "

Hawke felt Anders' hand slip into his and squeeze it.

Hawke squeezed back, taking strength from his lover's support. And, he admitted, from his brother being his surly, argumentative self. "You're not clairvoyant," he pointed out. "You don't know the future any more than I do. And what I fear and what will happen are two different things."

" _And when he dies_ ," Nightmare continued on as if he hadn't heard him, " _you'll be so relieved, and you'll hate yourself for it, of course. You're good at that. There will be so little left of him by then, you see, that hasn't been claimed by Vengeance and by the Elder One. You think the Anders you saw in that future dream was lost, but you have no idea just how lost he will become for real._ "

"Ah, I wondered when it would be my turn," Anders said with a kind of fake brightness. "This should be fun."

_"The healer who has the blood of hundreds of innocents on his hands. Oh, but you accepted that, that people would have to die for your cause, didn't you? But what about the survivors? How many children did you orphan at one stroke? Do you think about what they felt – the pain and confusion, the despair as you ripped their world apart? And above it all, the fear. I should thank you, Anders, for the banquet you provided."_

"Yes, fun, I thought so," Anders said bleakly. He didn't answer further, but Justice did.

" **A day does not pass without him thinking about what we did together in the malignancy of Kirkwall. He understands its consequences with clarity, and he suffers for it. Yet neither of us feel the suffering sufficient for what we wrought. We live free, not because we deserve either life or freedom, but because the world benefits more if we live and perform benign acts, than if we die and don't.** "

It wasn't like this was something Hawke hadn't known at some level. He'd seen how everything that had happened affected Anders, and how those effects had seemed to grow heavier the longer they were away from Kirkwall. But that didn't make his heart ache any less for Anders to hear it stated so baldly.

" _Ah Justice. Or should I say Vengeance? You lay the blame on Kirkwall, but you were wreaking vengeance almost from the second you joined with your so-called friend. You told him you wanted to help and then drove him as hard as any demon when he gave in. And most clever of all, you made him willingly take the blame for your actions when you and I both know the first injustice was when you possessed him._ "

"I invited him in!" Anders exclaimed. "It wasn't and isn't possession. Neither of us knew what we'd do to each other. Oh, Maker's balls." He screwed up his face and fists. "I promised myself I wasn't going to react."

The cruel laugh that came from the Nightmare then made Hawke see red, but he shoved his anger down. Instead, he tugged on Anders' hand, pulling him close enough to wrap an arm around. "If you hadn't, I was about to."

"I think," Anders said stiltedly, leaning into Hawke, "that part of the problem was... If the Circles hadn't been so terrified of spirits, seeing them as just demons yet to happen; if we'd been encouraged to talk to spirits, to understand them, and help them understand us, then we both would have been better prepared for our joining."

Dorian spoke up then. "Fear seems to have been the beginning point from which all your southern Circles operated, and that has obviously caused a lot of damage that could have been avoided, but I think you are selling yourselves short. I admit I never knew you back when you... stumbled, but the Anders and Justice I know now are quite a singular partnership. And I'm not just saying that because I quite literally would not be standing here as I am without you. What you have, what you do, is truly unique. And remarkable. Nothing that thing can say diminishes that."

Anders turned to look at him, managing a surprised and grateful smile.

" _And how would you have coped, Dorian, son of Halward Pavus the Hypocrite?"_ Nightmare asked _. "I think we know the answer to that, don't we? You'd do what your kind always do when backed into a corner, put the blade to your wrist. Or better still, someone else's wrist._ "

Dorian visibly stiffened at that, his eyes darting to the side where Fenris stood.

"Dorian is different from 'his kind'," Fenris growled, stepping close enough that their arms touched. "Even a child could see that. You are a joke, demon, trapped in a prison you created yourself. No wonder you are blind."

"He really seems to be running out of material if that's what he's going with now," Hawke drawled deliberately. "Anyone who has spent any time with Dorian whatsoever would know that I'm more likely to turn bloodmage before he is."

Dorian shot Hawke a startled but grateful look at that.

Possibly Hawke had been right about the barrell-scrapping as no more seemed forthcoming from Nightmare, at least for the moment, and they were able to continue on through his domain, fighting demons as they came to them.

They stumbled into another clearing and found the Spirit Divine waiting for them. "The Nightmare is closer now," she told them. "It knows you seek escape. With each moment, it grows stronger."

"And that's just the kind of encouragement I was hoping for," Hawke snarked.

Beyond the Divine he could see more of the wraiths that held his memories, and without pausing, he attacked. If time was that much of the essence, he needed to recover them and keep going as quickly as possible.

It's not as if they were hard to kill anyway. "If he wants to make reclaiming your memories this easy," Fenris said, "why bother putting them inside demons at all?"

"I suspect the ease we're having in finding them has more to do with the Divine or whatever she really is," Dorian said. "She's the one that has led us to them, after all. Without her, I expect it would be like looking for one particular needle in a demonic haystack."

"Whichever it is, I'm not about to look a gift memory in the mouth," Hawke said, approaching the first green glow, already reaching out with his marked hand for it.

"The demons!" Divine Justinia's voice shouted from it. Well, that was ominous.

The second memory yielded Justinia saying, "Go!" Hawke didn't know in what context yet, but it still sent a shiver down his spine.

Grim-faced, he moved onto the third. This one, when he touched it with the anchor's power, yielded his own voice. "Keep running!" he heard himself say.

He moved to the last, and when activated, the world dissolved around him like it had before, and he found himself immersed in the suddenly regained memory.

He was climbing a staircase so steep it almost qualified as a ladder instead. His limbs burned, and his lungs were on fire, and he knew even without looking behind him that there were _things_ chasing him.

"The rift at the Temple," he murmured, recognising where he was now. "That's how we– how _I_ escaped."

Looking up, he spotted Justinia waiting at the top of the stone he was climbing, the rift glowing green behind her. She reached for him, her eyes wide. "The demons!" she cried out – a warning.

Hawke could practically feel them on his heels. It gave him an extra burst of strength, and he scrambled the last couple of feet. Justinia helped pull him up, and then they both turned and dashed for the rift. "Keep running!" Hawke shouted encouragement. They were so close, they _had_ to make it...

A wordless cry came from Justinia, and Hawke turned just in time to see one of the spider demons grab her. He reached out and managed to catch her hand, but wasn't strong enough to pull her free. She met his eyes for one long moment then ordered, "Go," and let go of his hand, letting the demons have her.

Horrorstruck, Hawke stared for a second before doing the only thing he could do – he turned and jumped through the rift.

When the memory replay stopped, he found his friends grouped closely around him, Anders squeezing his hand tightly. "There was nothing else you could have done."

Hawke took a deep shaky breath as the memory settled into place in his head. He knew Anders was right; with the state he'd been in, all he could do was run. But it was still another person he had failed to save.

Worst of all, it was that failure that people had latched onto and reinterpreted to make him seem chosen.

"They thought it was Andraste sending me from the Fade, but it was the Divine," Hawke said, choking on a hysterical laugh, although nothing about this was funny. "And then she died."

The spirit Divine looked at him with sad compassion. "Yes," she confirmed.

"Regardless of why they thought you a hero and a leader, Hawke," Varric said, "it doesn't change the fact that you are both, and that without you, the world would be rapidly heading towards a state of universal corruption and suffering."

Hawke shook his head. "I'm not holy. Or chosen. I'm just..." Doing the best he could do. He still felt like a fraud. Just because he was a good fraud didn't change that.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," Carver put in, "but how, in the Maker's name, do you know that? You were the one, the only one, to stumble upon Corypheus and the Divine at the Conclave, and you just so happened to be the one whose blood freed Corypheus and who'd already defeated him once once. That's too much of a coincidence to be believable. brother."

Hawke stared at Carver, startled by the words and the theory they represented, but far more by the fact that it was Carver saying them. Carver, who had known him all his life and spent much of it insisting Hawke wasn't so great. "Do you really think that?"

His brother shrugged. "Are you the holy Herald of Andraste? Ha! You're about as holy as my left nostril. Are you, on the other hand, a favourite pawn of forces beyond the normal world? Well, something has to explain the things that keep happening to you, doesn't it?"

And that idea felt like it had some merit to it. He wasn't sure what it ultimately meant for him and how he reacted to things, but for some reason it made him feel better now. More so, that it was Carver suggesting it.

Before he could say anything, however, a loud chittering filled the clearing and a number of demon spiders skittered down the walls and started advancing on them. "The Nightmare has found us," the spirit Divine announced before disappearing in a puff of Fade smoke.

"No shit," Varric said, lifting Bianca.

They made short work of the spiders and the next couple of groups of demons, but they'd been almost constantly fighting since they'd woken this morning, and it was starting to tell on them. Hawke could see it in all his companions' faces.

As they rounded another corner Hawke saw a barrier shining in their path along with more demons. As they leapt into yet another fight, the Nightmare spoke.

_"Do you think you can fight me? I am your every fear come to life! I am the veiled hand of Corypheus himself! The demon army you fear? I command it. They are bound all through me!"_

"Ah, so if we banish you, we banish the demons?" the spirit Divine's voice replied. "Thank you, every fear come to life."

Nightmare roared in frustration at that, and the barrier in front of them fell with the last of the demons.

Hawke leant on his staff and tried to catch his breath. "Everyone okay?"

"In one piece, more or less," Fenris replied. Anders frowned and looked towards him, lifting a hand glowing with healing magic. "And now more more than less," Fenris added with a snort of badly needed humour.

"You know, killing our host won't just solve the demon army problem," Varric pointed out. "He said he's behind the false Calling too, so giving us two for the price of one when we finally 'wake him up'."

Carver chuckled. "I wonder if he's feeling afraid yet. Could he feed off his own fear, do you think?"

"If so, I will be more than happy to help provide him with a veritable feast," Dorian said with a rather feral grin. "Enough that he eventually chokes on it."

Hawke felt himself bolstered by the banter of his friends. All of them had had fears aired that they had not want brought out in the open, yet all of them were still standing and, if anything, more focused and determined to win out. This, more than anything, was the real reason Hawke was so successful at tripping up all the evils he seemed to end up facing – he had the best people at his back.

"Come on," he said, slinging the Key back over his shoulder. "Let's go finish this."

More walking led to more demons to face, more horrible landscapes – including a graveyard with tombstones with all their names and fears laid bare – but the Nightmare's voice did not return to taunt them any more. They made it to another barrier where they saw the spirit Divine again. And where it felt like every demon they hadn't already dealt with converged on their location.

The fight went on for what felt like forever, but finally the last attacker fell, as did the barrier. After a brief pause for healing, they went through one more cavern and when they got to the far end, Hawke began to feel a telltale tingling in his left hand. "The rift," he said, holding it up. "We're almost there."

"Let's hurry," Varric said, his tone revealing just how much he disliked the Fade, not that any of them were exactly in love with the place.

"Wait!" Fenris said in a low, urgent tone as he stared into the swirling fog that filled the edges of the cavern.

That's when they saw it, looming towards them, so big that to start with it seemed like the walls of the place themselves were moving. It was the gigantic, spider-like demon that they'd earlier spotted on the other side of the rift in Adamant – _this_ was Nightmare.

And in front of it, a smaller, vaguely more humanoid fear demon that under normal circumstances would itself seem huge.

" _Fasta vass_ , that's a big one," Dorian murmured, obviously trying for a joking tone but coming out sounding more reverent and anxious than anything else.

"Shit," Hawke murmured, unable to look away. How in the Void were they going to beat _that_?

Then bright streaks of light knocked down the terror demon as the spirit Divine appeared. She flew into the face of the giant spider, glowing bright as a winter sun. "Please, if you would," she said, "tell Leliana I'm sorry, I failed her too." And then she pulsed impossibly brighter, so bright that Hawke was forced to shield his eyes.

When he could see again, the spirit divine was gone, and the spider was some distance away, quiescent. That the smaller terror demon had recovered as they had didn't flag Hawke's sudden surge of hope.

Without the giant spider, they could defeat it. They would defeat it. There was no other option.

" **We must not waste the opportunity we've been given** ," Justice intoned. When Hawke looked his way, slightly alarmed to be going into battle without Anders topmost, he got a sheepish and very Anders-y grin in return. "What he said."

"Wasn't planning on it," Hawke said with a smirk, then leaned in to steal one quick kiss, something to strengthen both of them during the fight. Grinning wolfishly he said, "Let's go kick a nightmare's arse."

The fear demon spoke with Nightmare's voice, they quickly discovered – a part of it summoned up to be its mouthpiece, perhaps, as spiders, no matter how appallingly huge, generally didn't talk. It taunted and boasted as they fought, and the fight itself was long and brutal, More than once Hawke thought that one or more of them were going to go down as it called in lesser demons to help it. But when the demon finally fell, they were all still standing. Battered, bloody and exhausted, but still standing.

"A good job done," Varric said, straightening up enough to look over Bianca, checking her over.

"Yeah," Carver said slowly, staring off towards the rift, "but whether we'll be alive to appreciate that..."

Following his gaze left no doubt that, while Nightmare's mouthpiece might be destroyed, their nightmare wasn't over. The mountainous spider demon had recovered and was looming in the darkness, blocking their path to the rift, their way out.

It was obvious that there was no way they were going to be able to sneak past it, not without something distracting it.

"Go," Hawke ordered, following his first instinct. He wasn't escaping and leaving someone else behind, not again. "I'll keep its attention on me while you sneak out."

"Fuck that!" Anders said, outraged.

"So say we all," Fenris muttered, standing himself directly between Hawke and the demon.

"Of course." Carver shook his head. "Now I know why I'm here. Don't you see? I'm the one that stays so our Herald here can go on and kill that darkspawn bastard for good."

"Hawke, of us all, you're the only one who has to make it out," Dorian said, in an eminently logical tone of voice. "You're the one with the anchor. We've seen what happens to the world if you're not there. We are expendable. You are not."

Though he knew Dorian was right, Hawke was doing a remarkable job at ignoring that. "None of you are expendable," he argued, ignoring how his tone was starting to sound more like begging. "Not to me."

"So you'd rather die than lose one of us?" Varric asked. "I'm sorry, Hawke, with what's at stake that's just a little selfish."

"We haven't time to stand and argue about it!" Carver gestured towards his brother. "Get him out of here. I'll see to this." He raised his sword and started to stride towards the demon.

" **No**!" Justice's single word made everyone stop in their tracks. " **I will stay. I'm sorry, Anders, but this is the only just sacrifice.** "

Hawke spun to face him. "Are you out of your mind?" he yelled, fear making his voice more shrill than usual. All he could hear in his head was the Nightmare repeating _Anders is going to die_ over and over. No. Not that. "Do you really think I'll let Anders stay behind any more than I would my brother? You try it, even if you somehow force me through that rift, I'll just wave my magic hand and open another one and come right back."

" **You misunderstand, Hawke. Anders will be leaving with you. He's unhappy about this, but I think you know I'm right. You will have to help him leave. He won't want to.** " Justice walked into Hawke's personal space as he spoke and then... wavered. It was as if all the blue currently shining through cracks in Anders' skin and in his eyes stepped sideways, leaving just ordinary flesh behind, flesh that slumped forward into Hawke's arms.

" **Farewell, my friend,** " said the transparent golden knight now standing beside them. He placed a hand over Anders' head as if in blessing. " **You have been true.** "

With that, he turned, and impossibly fast, he was before Nightmare, slashing at it with a sword of light.

For a few seconds, all Hawke could do, all any of them could do, was stare, but he knew he shouldn't squander the chance Justice had given them. "Run!" he yelled, shifting his grip on Anders to better hold onto him as they fled. "While we can, go!"

"No." Anders started to struggle weakly. "No, Hawke, we can't. I..."

Hawke tightened his hold as he kept them going forward though at a slower pace than they probably needed. "Justice has already made the choice for us, love," he said. "I'm sorry."

Fenris took hold of one of Anders' arms, saying to Hawke, "Faster. Time enough for apologies and explanations later."

Hawke nodded, feeling a wave of gratitude for Fenris as between the two of them they managed to get a still struggling Anders to the rift. He spared one last glance behind him before he went through, seeing Justice for now grimly holding his own against the spider, and then he jumped.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you everyone for reading, and all those who have commented - you're wonderful! We have nearly finished writing the third story (which takes us to the end of Wicked Hearts) but the necessary edits and so on do mean it will be a few weeks yet. Again, thank you!


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